Heart Bound in Chains
by LadyDeb1970
Summary: Ian Howe finds out just how far he'll go to protect the people he loves when his brother and daughter are kidnapped by former associates. He's willing to steal, willing to deal. Willing even to ask the aid of the man who helped to put him in prison.
1. Prologue: Catalysts

Disclaimer: Ian Howe, Riley Poole, Agent Sadusky, Patrick Henry Gates, Benjamin Franklin Gates and Abigail Chase Gates do not belong to me. . .they belong to Disney and Jerry Bruckheimer. However, Cameron McDowell, Agent Danae Marini, Special Agent Broceliande Carter, Jocelyn Ramsey, Annie Ramsey-Howe, and anyone else who didn't appear in _National Treasure_ DO belong to me. As ever, I don't mind if you borrow 'em, but ask first, give credit where credit is due, and return them intact (they don't have to be unscathed, but intact and alive).

Heart Bound in Chains

Prologue

Catalysts

When she thought about it, years later, it seemed to her that her life began the night it almost ended. Perhaps it was better that way. . .perhaps it _should_ be far easier to remember the pleasure she found at the hands of her blond-haired, green eyed rescuer than the terror caused by the attack in the city. She was twenty years old that night, a child in some ways. No one else caused her such fear before. And no one else gave her such pleasure.

Even now, she couldn't be sure if the pleasure was from his touch, or from the knowledge that a man such as him could want her. Her, of all people! They were together for three years, and he had only to look at her to turn her knees to water. His eyes would darken, and her heart would skip a beat, seeing the passion, the desire there. For her. Not for the most beautiful or the smartest girls in the city, but for her.

He would advance toward her, his eyes never leaving her face. And his expression would cause an ache to begin between her legs, spreading up into her middle. She would wrap her arms around her waist, an unconsciously protective gesture that was totally unnecessary. This man would never hurt her. Then he would kiss her, pinning her to the wall. His mouth hot and demanding on her own. It terrified her, such passion. Such want.

It exhilarated her, that passion, that want. She, who was terrified that no one would ever feel that way about her. Quiet little Jocelyn. Jocelyn, who was improperly named. Until she met him. It amazed her, that this extraordinary man could need her so. As if she possessed something that was necessary to him. To his well being, to his very sanity. Because when they lay in bed together, arching and writhing under each other's weight, there was desperation in him, a want that only she could fill. She didn't know how she did it. It was just. . .there.

Sometimes, he would even weep and her arms would wind around him, drawing his head to rest against her chest. He never seemed to mind that she had small breasts. It never stopped him from worshipping those small mounds as he did the rest of her body. And he worshipped her body, with such tenderness, such reverence, it spoiled her for many other men. How could she find pleasure and joy in coupling again, after such a man?

He taught her that she was beautiful, that her imperfections and her flaws made her beautiful. She shivered, whenever she remembered the feel of his wine trickling down her body. And the feel of his tongue against her skin as he lapped it up. It sent a jolt through her system. . .that touch and his eyes never breaking contact with hers. It was the one thing he insisted on. . .he wanted her to look at him when he touched her.

That played a part in his seduction of her. And he did seduce her. He seduced her with his smile, with his warmth, with his touch. He seduced her by believing in her. And to a girl like Jocelyn, that was more seductive than even his touch. He believed in her. He believed she could do anything in the world, and that remained with her long after they parted. It wasn't meant to last, not the two of them. That's what he kept telling her.

But she was young, only twenty-three when it came time to say good-bye. Young, and she saw no reason to believe they couldn't continue to love each other. He was ten years older than she was, but that was hardly important. . .was it? She loved him. And she knew he loved her. But as the song said, sometimes love wasn't enough. He saw what she couldn't, not right then. He saw, and he sent her home to the US.

Quite apart from missing him desperately, her greatest regret was that he didn't see his daughter for such a long time after she was born. Seven months pregnant when he sent her home, he told her many times that she was even more beautiful with child. Many times, in those weeks before their child was born, she could feel the ghost of his hand moving in slow, possessive circles on her rounded belly. In those months after he sent her home, she could almost see him lying beside her, a slight smile on his lips as he gazed down at her.

Years later, he returned to her life. By this time, her daughter was five years old, and her resemblance to her father sometimes took her breath away. Two weeks after their daughter's birthday, she received a call from him. He was in the States, in South Carolina. He wanted to set up a meeting, he wanted to see her again. She walked into the restaurant chosen for their meeting place, their daughter holding her hand tightly. And the father fell to his knees, the first time he saw that precious little girl. He saw himself in that little girl. She had red hair, red hair and dark green eyes. She was a beautiful child, and her mother would have willingly died for her. Both of her parents would have.

And in a way, her father did die for her. Wishing to protect his child, he introduced Jocelyn to his younger brother and allowed nature to take its course. In his brother, she found the healing she so desperately sought. Her lover knew this. Then again, he was a smart man. She was happy, at least for a time. The quiet, painfully shy little girl who believed no one would ever love her, found two extraordinary men.

So, when an old enemy returned to destroy her life, taking her precious child and the new man in her life, there was only one person who could help her make things right. That man's older brother, the father of her child, her first love. . .the criminal mastermind, Ian Howe.


	2. The Sharing of Power

Oooh, this is a nice surprise! (This has been a day of nice surprises, though)

Reviews:

Terreis: (Alec whimpers. _She's giving me the Puss'n'Boots look. I can't resist that from any woman any more!_) Yes, I did make the change. . .which is why this actually took longer to post than my Alec fic (I can't very well call it a James Bond fic, now can I?). There were a few references I had to change. And thank you for reviewing, even though you've already read it. Reviews make me write faster. Check your email. . .I sent you something else to blush about! (heheheheh. . .Alec, stop that. This is Ian's story, not yours).

Butterflykisses71: Thank you! I hope you enjoy the rest of the story. I know Ian and Jocelyn are raring to go.

Heart Bound in Chains

Chapter One

The Sharing of Power

Over the last six months, ever since the beginning of his prison term, the blond-haired prisoner had a great deal of time to think. During that time, he came to two conclusions. First and foremost, becoming involved with the search for the Templar's Treasure was one of the most idiotic things he had ever done. Considering some of the hare-brained stunts he pulled while he was still a kid and thought he was invincible, that was saying a great deal. It didn't start out as an obsession, but then, with him, it never did. Fascination, yes. . .obsession, no.

He certainly didn't need all that treasure. The idea was to keep a few pieces for himself, and then sell the remaining pieces to art galleries and museums. There was no such thing as too rich in his world, but there was always the danger of going too far. Something he was forced to remember sitting in prison. However, things spun out of control after he panicked on the _Charlotte. _Panicking wasn't his style. . .he stayed in control of his emotions, but he did panic after dropping the flare into the gunpowder

The other conclusion? It was just as well he ordered his brother and Jos to stay the hell away during the trial. Number one, it protected them from the damn media circus. Number two, it spared him from the disappointment he knew he would have seen in both sets of eyes. Number three, it prevented both Cam and Jos from doing something really stupid. Like, attacking Aunt Emma when she bitterly informed him that his dear parents were rolling over in their graves from the shame he caused them. Old biddy. Mum never did like her.

This all crossed his mind as he waited in the visitor's room. He awoke before the other prisoners this morning, as he often did. The man was used to getting up early. And soon after lights went on, the guards arrived at his cell.

He had company today. . . and it wasn't his lawyer. Intrigued, he accompanied the guards. If it wasn't his lawyer, who could it be? Not Ben Gates, surely, though he bore his former partner little ill-will. Gates did warn him that the treasure wasn't worth all of their lives. No, he bore Ben no ill-will, though he knew the feeling wasn't mutual. A clicking of heels drew his attention away from his own thoughts. When he saw his mysterious visitor, Ian Howe's blood ran cold. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.

She stood stock-still in front of him, a slim, dark-haired woman in business attire. A silky white blouse, plain black skirt and bright red blazer, black patent shoes and fishnet stockings completing the picture. Everything about her screamed 'professional woman.' Everything except for her eyes. They were red-rimmed, as if she had been crying recently. And there were fine lines around the corners of her mouth. Ian's instincts were screaming at him now. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.

Still, she tried to smile as she replied in a husky voice, "Hello, Ian. You're looking well." He smiled back, though his heart wasn't in it. His lack of enthusiasm didn't have anything to do with her. He was glad to see her. No matter what the circumstances, he was always glad to see her. But he feared whatever news she brought with her today. His eyes searched her features, looking for clues. What was she doing here, what happened? He told them that he didn't want them to see him while he was in prison.

While she and Cam didn't always do what he asked of them, this was the first time in months he saw either of them. Something happened. It was the only explanation, given the evidence he had before him. Was it the baby? Ian swallowed hard. No. No, that was the one thing he couldn't bear. He could handle his brother's anger, he could handle this woman's disappointment, though both hurt. But his little girl. . .

The young woman continued after a moment, "This isn't a social call, much as it pains me to say it." Ian nodded, and she continued, "I finally understood why you sent me away, all those years ago. God, I understand so much better now. Cam and Annie are gone, Ian. They've been kidnapped." Ian stared at her in shock, feeling the bottom of his stomach drop out. _No. No_! But he already believed her. Oh, no. Not his brother. . .not his baby girl! _No, dammit_!

Before he could ask the most obvious question, she took a deep breath and explained, "I was working overtime, and by the time I got off work, there was a nasty traffic tangle in downtown Raleigh. It was seven before I got home. I knew something was wrong, right off the bat. The front door was standing wide open. Like it was kicked in. I. . .I went back to my car, got my pistol. And you didn't hear me say that."

Ian tried to smile, but the effort failed spectacularly. His little brother. His baby girl. Missing. And his former lover scared enough tobreak the law. He knew fully well that she had a license for her pistol, but not for a concealed weapon. She continued after a moment, "The house looked like Hurricane Charlie just went through it. Furniture overturned. And blood. Blood in spots on the carpet. A note was taped to the curio cabinet. Whoever took Cam and Annie. . .they _know_, Ian. At least, they know that Cam is your brother."

That was bad news, all by itself. He worked very hard for the last twenty years to protect his younger brother from his own sins. He would pay for his own crimes, but he didn't want his sins affecting his brother. . .whether it was from Ian's former associates, or people around Cam shunning him because of what Ian did. And Annie. . . After everything he did to protect her and her mother, it was still not enough. Never good enough. Story of his life.

_Stop. Focus_. He couldn't afford to lose track of what was important here. Focus on his brother, focus on his daughter. Don't think about how badly he failed them both, how badly he failed Jocelyn. Ian took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to tuck his emotions away into a small, neat box. He would scream and throw things later. He had to focus right now, or his brother and child would die.

"It would take them little effort to discover that Annie is my daughter, then," Ian murmured once he had his fury and terror under control, "Do you have any idea who took them, and what they want? It has something to do with me, or you wouldn't be here." She shot him a reproving look, and Ian looked away. She still could do that to him. Make him feel as if he was an errant schoolboy. Maybe it shouldn't have surprised him, that little bit of knowledge.

That, and realizing that he was still in love with her. The discovery caused a little pain in his heart. He sacrificed any rights he had with Jocelyn nearly nine years earlier, when he sent her away. But it was the right thing to do, to protect her and their unborn child. He had women since then. . .beautiful, intelligent, sophisticated women. But none of them were Jocelyn. The woman who might have affected him as Jocelyn did was Abigail Chase Gates.

"No, you dolt, I would be here even if it had nothing to do with you, because you're Cam's brother and Annie's father!" Jocelyn retorted in a low voice. Ian suppressed his smile, even as he felt the tips of his ears burn. He always loved that about her. That fire that appeared when she was annoyed or exasperated. Fiery and quiet, and Ian couldn't resist the dichotomy.

People thought he was crazy, taking up with an American girl ten years younger than he was. What would they talk about, for heaven's sake? In the beginning, it had a lot to do with ego. He remembered the way she looked at him, after he came to her rescue in London. . .the admiration there. She didn't care. . .or didn't know. . .that he was only slightly better than her attackers. All that mattered to her was that he saved her life.

She made him feel so powerful. Not because she was submissive. . .Jocelyn was shy, not submissive. . .but because of her quiet faith in him. She believed in him, believed that he could go straight, and remain straight. And he did! At least for a while. For many years after he sent her home and she began building her new life, he was a legitimate businessman.

It took the lure of the Templar treasure to tempt him back into his old ways, but for ten years, he walked the straight and narrow, because this young woman believed in him. Long after she left his life, her influence remained in his soul. And. . .and, she gave him a child. Annie was raised half a world away from him, but he could see her from time to time. And she always nodded gravely when they said good-bye, when he asked her to take care of her mother.

Jocelyn was no longer the child Ian first met. But the honesty remained, and so did the faith. Even after some of the amazingly stupid stunts he pulled both before and after they were together, she still believed in him. The honesty remained, that faith in him, and that passion. He smiled at her now, murmuring, "I really am glad to see you, Jos."

Jocelyn sighed and whispered, "You dolt. You _idiot_. . .I would have been here a _lot_ sooner, with both Cam _and_ Annie if _someone_ hadn't been such a twit, and decided that he would play martyr with his family!And don't even get me started on you stealing the Declaration of Independence! I'll yell at you for that later." Of that, Ian had no doubt. As passionate as he was about history, Jocelyn was even more so.

And he could almost predict what she would say. However, Ian promised himself that when the time came, he would let her rant. It would go rather badly for him if he didn't listen. Small women, he learned, tended to be fierce. Jocelyn continued more calmly, "Right now, listen to me. I'm working on a way to get you out of here and help with the search."

Get him out of here? As in. . .? Was she insane? His expression must have reflected what he was thinking, because Jocelyn all but growled, "No, you idiot! LEGALLY! What do you think, I wanna end up in jail? What good would I be to anyone?" Ian colored and looked away. That was foolish of him, and he knew better. With only one exception, she was almost always more level-headed than he was. And she was much younger at the time.

Jocelyn shook her head, sighing as she said, "My best friend, Danae. . .she's with the FBI in Charlotte. She's working on a deal. A way that we can get you out, if only for a while. If this goes through, it can also help you when your first parole hearing comes up. She knows the truth, Ian. She knows that Annie is your little girl. She knows everything. The only question that remains is you. Are you willing to compromise, to save Cam and Annie?"

"Do you really need to ask that question?" Ian asked, disappointed that she even found it necessary to ask him. She smiled unexpectedly, and then he understood. She was asking, not because she doubted him, but because she needed something back to this Danae. Ian exhaled slowly, and leaned forward. Green eyes bored into hazel, as he said softly, "I will do anything to rescue my brother and my baby girl. And. . .and that includes asking Ben Gates to help."

She relaxed and answered, "I'm glad to hear that. Because it may actually come to that." Ian looked at her quickly, and Jocelyn smiled faintly, adding, "You taught me, Ian, to cover all possibilities. Rule number one. . .nothing is impossible. Improbable, or even difficult, but not impossible. You taught me to look at even the most unlikely option, because it cut down possibilities of being taken by surprise. And I haven't forgotten anything that you taught me."

Her smile grew a little more wicked as she repeated, "Anything." Ian stared at the woman who gave him his only child, at the woman he gave away more than eight years earlier. And he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that whoever took his brother and child would end up regretting it before the end. Even before Ian got his hands on them. Jocelyn smiled again, saying once more, "You look wonderful, Ian. But you'll look even better out of prison."

"And you look beautiful," Ian answered huskily. He immediately wished he kept his mouth shut, because that expression was back on her face. The one he always hated, because it was a prelude to one of their arguments about whether or not she was beautiful. To forestall that argument, he added, "Right now, just a friendly face is beautiful. I'm not flirting with you, Jos, I know better than that."

"Humph," she replied, "we'll see about that. Ian, I gotta ask. . .why did you do it? With all the money that you made, with your legitimate businesses. . .why did you do it?" And that, he reflected, was the final reason he was glad she didn't come to the trial. Because he knew, sooner or later, she would ask that question, and he didn't know how to answer it. Didn't know what would make sense to her.

Without realizing it, she gave him time to think about it, because she added, "See, I'm not just asking for myself. I'm asking for Danae. I need to give her something, something to take to her boss. Something that. . .that will convince them that you're not a risk to them or to anyone else." Ian nodded. Yes, he understood that. It made sense. The trouble was, he wasn't certain what kind of answer he could give. He could tell her the truth, but he wasn't entirely sure if it would make any sense to her.

And in the end, the easiest answer was, "Because I became obsessed. You know how I get, Jos. It started as. . .it started innocently. It always does. I liked Ben Gates. . .I liked how thorough he was, I liked hearing him think out loud. I liked his. . .his moxie. And then the fever started, the closer we got to the treasure. I got to know Ben better, and I wanted us to find the treasure, not just for the sake of the money, but because I wanted him to get vindication for his family. Just like I wanted vindication for mine."

Jocelyn said not a word, but kept her eyes on him. Ian sighed, rubbing his hand over his face and continued, "I understood, you see. I understood what it was like to have my face rubbed in the dirt, to never be good enough. From the time my parents died. . . no, even before my parents died. I saw what those pompous, arrogant bastards did to my father. He was as good as any of 'em, but we were working class, and that made us inferior."

"So what happened? Why did you leave Gates and Poole to die in the _Charlotte_? That's not like you, Ian. I always knew you had a dark side. We all do. But the Ian Howe I knew and loved would have never left someone he liked to die," Jocelyn asked softly. Ian sighed and dropped his head. He'd forgotten about this. And he should have known better than to think he could totally shield Cam and Jos. . .and himself. . .from the trial. Once he was arrested, his former lover would have. . . well, Jos could be just as obsessive as Ian himself.

"Would you believe me if I said I panicked? I don't know what I was thinking, Jos, I don't even know if I was thinking. What happened aboard the _Charlotte_, after Ben figured out the next clue is something of a blur. I. . .I remember feeling hurt. . .and betrayed. Disbelief that Gates would attempt to blow up the _Charlotte_. I played poker with him, Jos, and we were. . .I don't know. . .almost friends, for lack of a better word. But when I looked at him right then, with that flare in his hand. . .I didn't see a friend any more. I saw a stranger, and an obstacle," Ian replied at last.

He wasn't proud of what he did. It was one thing for him to deal with the arse who made the mistake of threatening Jos and the unborn Annie. He would never regret that. But Ben was no threat to him. . .no threat to his family. And. . . Ian looked up at Jos, asking in turn, "Why haven't you asked about the other. . .about leaving them in the bottom of Trinity Church? Why haven't you asked about everything else?"

She smiled unexpected, and replied, "Well, for one thing, you left them at the bottom of Trinity Church. Not in the middle, but at the bottom. A very different thing from closing off all exits to a ship that was just about to explode. Trust me, I'm not happy with you about it, or about using Patrick Gates to ensure his son's cooperation. But. . .I also know that if you wanted any of them dead, you would have killed them. And. . .you bear Ben Gates no ill will." She did know him, better than he realized.

"So now what?" he asked hoarsely. It was growing harder and harder to keep his emotions boxed up and safely tucked away. His focus was wavering, began wavering the moment she mentioned using Patrick Gates to ensure Ben didn't double-cross him. Using the father to ensure the son's cooperation. Using the daughter. . .using the brother. . .for what purpose? Ian needed to be doing something. He could wait, but not where his child and brother were concerned, not where his. . .not where Jos was concerned.

"Now? Now, I go back to my hotel room and tell Danae about our conversation. I'll be here all week. Two of Danae's fellow agents are monitoring my house and email. Just in case. Ian. . .I don't know if we can pull this off. I don't know what will happen once we get Cam and Annie back. I don't want to make you any promises I can't keep. Just. . .hang on, okay?" she asked. The strain was starting to tell in her expression as well.

Ian nodded, taking a deep breath. Jos rose to her feet, slinging the black purse carelessly over one shoulder, as if it was much larger. She stopped and smiled at him then. A real smile. She added, "You look fan-bloody-tastic, Ian. But you really need a haircut." With that, she strode out with a nod to the guard. Ian sat there, somewhat shocked. Then he began to smile. A haircut, did she say? Well, since it was she who asked it of him. . .

* * *

She stood in her boss' office, arms folded over her chest as she awaited the senior officer's decision. Danae Marini only wanted one thing for most of her life. To join the FBI, and finish what her father started. She accomplished one dream, only to find herself risking everything for the sake of her best friend. But Jocelyn meant the world to her. And if anyone was worth the risk, it was Jocelyn Ramsey, her little girl Annie, and Cameron McDowell.

Danae met Jocelyn several years earlier, only weeks after Jocelyn got off the plane from London. A newly-minted professor, Jocelyn was eight months pregnant and burning with rage. All that Danae could get out of her friend in those early months, was that Jocelyn's lover and the father of her child sent her away. . .in a most underhanded manner. She couldn't talk about it, it angered her that much.

He didn't drive Jocelyn to the hospital when she went into labor with Annie. . . and he didn't hold her hand through the ten hours of labor. That was Danae. It started out as a case, investigating the woman who was rumored to be the lover of a criminal. It started out as a case. But Danae was a protector at heart, and in some ways, Jocelyn needed protection from herself. She was so angry, Danae was truly afraid she would harm herself or the baby.

It started out as a case, but it turned into a very real friendship. And now, here they were, nearly ten years later. Trying to get that same criminal out of prison, after he stole the Declaration of Independence. . .because it was the best way to save the lives of two innocent people who were very important toDanae. The best way to save the younger brother and daughter of that same criminal. At last, her boss asked, "Why should I agree to this?"

"Because we need him. He has the contacts, he has the knowledge, and he has the network we need. Because if we're wrong about why Cameron McDowell was kidnapped, then we could be looking at something far worse than just an old enemy wanting to hit back at his older brother. You know just as well as I do that Cam McDowell is one of the most promising young scientists, in or out of the private sector," Danae replied immediately.

"If it was about McDowell himself, then why take the little girl?" Special Agent in Charge Broceliande Carter asked, folding her hands together. Forty-six years old, the daughter of King Arthur enthusiasts, Carter was asking nothing that Danae hadn't already considered. She and Jocelyn discussed this at length, once Danae could get her friend to calm down after the abductions. Jocelyn, not surprisingly, wanted to do something _now_.

Trying to calm down Jocelyn Patricia Ramsey, PhD, was never an easy task. When it came to Annie, however, it became nearly impossible. For too long, Annie was all Jocelyn had. And for too long, Jocelyn was all her daughter had, for that matter. Annie was only eight years old. Hardly more than a baby. If Jocelyn was right, and they were taken to get back at Ian. . . well, it wasn't any more reassuring than any of the other possibilities. But Danae was, fortunately, quite determined herself. She stood to lose her best friend, her honorary niece, and her career. Everything depended on this meeting.

"Insurance. . .what better way to ensure her father's cooperation than to take Annie? Yes, I know he isn't actually her father, but even so. He is the primary male figure in her life, and he is just as protective of her as Jocelyn is. I am not asking you to approve the deal. That's up to the Attorney General's office. I am asking you to allow me to fly to Washington DC, and talk with Ian Howe. See what he can offer for us, not just in terms of cooperation to get his brother back, but he has resources far beyond our own. Cam's research in destroying earth-bound asteroids could easily be modified by terrorists," Danae reminded.

Special Agent Carter grimaced. None of them needed a reminder of that. She said finally, "All right. You have my authorization to talk to him. But only talk to him! Once I know what he's willing to offer us, I'll talk to the Attorney General. But this will not be easy, Danae. You have to know that right now. He stole the Declaration of Independence, he threatened the lives of several American citizens, and he destroyed property." Danae kept her smirk to herself, knowing better than to allow her expression to change.

"Which brings us to Benjamin Gates, who also stole the Declaration of Independence, and yet is walking the streets a free man. He is just as guilty as Ian Howe, or Ian McDowell, or whatever name you want to use. I have to wonder, since he also stole the Declaration, why he didn't just work together with Howe in the first place, so he could keep an eye on him and make sure it was protected?" she replied.

Special Agent Carter looked at her with some exasperation, mixed with amusement. The older woman replied, "You'll have to take that up with Special Agent Sadusky, since that case is his baby." Danae rolled her eyes, but understood what her boss was saying. The other woman continued after a moment, "I'm guessing that while you're in Washington DC, you'll want me to look after Dr Ramsey?"

Danae shook her head, replying, "No. She's still in DC." Her boss looked at her in amazement, and Danae shrugged, adding, "Whoever took Cam and Annie did a number on her house. She doesn't feel comfortable there right now. And Howe insisted that she and his brother not attend his trial. Let's just say, she's decided to make up for lost time." Danae just hoped that 'making up for lost time' didn't involve the horizontal mambo, or things could get real complicated real fast. Her boss nodded thoughtfully.

"Is she still in love with him, or can we count on her cooperation?" Carter asked. It was Danae's turn to grimace. _That_, she thought, _is a very good question_. It was hard for her to say, especially since she didn't know what things were like between Jocelyn and Cam. She wasn't sure if Jocelyn was still in love with Ian, and she didn't know if Jocelyn actually loved Cam. That was such a strange relationship. From what she could tell, they were together. . .but it was anyone's guess how they actually felt about each other.

"I'll answer that this way. Right now, the only thing Josie cares about is protecting her family. I don't know if she's still in love with Ian Howe. In her place, I wouldn't be. He used some pretty underhanded methods to get her out of the country, when she wanted to stay with him. Even if he was trying to protect her, Jocelyn is a grown woman, not a child. She can make her own decisions. However, he's also the father of her child. . .and, she's not me. I'm not her. But this I can tell you. She won't betray me," Danae replied.

"I don't know if that's good enough, Marini, but it's a start. The only way she would betray you was if she had no other choice, no other way to save her daughter," the senior agent observed, "and we shouldn't expect anything else out of her." Carter raised her eyes to Danae, adding, "I'd do the same in her position, if any of my children were in that situation." The younger woman nodded soberly.

"In that case, it wouldn't be a betrayal," Danae replied. She hesitated, then added, "But let's make sure Jocelyn doesn't end up in a position where she has to choose between us and her daughter?" Carter smiled almost grimly. None of them wanted that. None of them wanted a little girl to lose her life, none of them wanted a promising young scientist to work against his better nature, none of them wanted a young mother to lose what remained of her family.

"Then go to Washington DC, Agent Marini, and let's get to work on bringing Annie home to her mother," Carter replied. Danae almost saluted her boss, but settled for tipping an imaginary hat to her. Carter shooed her out of the office, and Danae headed to her desk. She had some flight arrangements to make. If she could get a flight out today, she would leave straight from work. Danae mentally thanked Jocelyn for her suggestion to always carry a duffel bag of clothes in her car. . .the suggestion came in handy more than once.

* * *

No one messed with Prisoner 041759. It was just understood. He left them alone, they left him alone. He didn't take part when a convicted child molester slipped through the cracks, and the other prisoners. . .welcomed him. But he also didn't stop them. He would just sit in his space, eyes cold as he watched the molester get a taste of his own medicine. The others were willing to bet that he had a kid of his own.

But no one knew for sure. What was known? He was English. He was serving time for destruction of property, attempting to steal the Declaration of Independence (though from what the guys who read the paper figured, custody of the old document passed back and forth after it was stolen), and attempted murder. It was also known that he could fight dirty, if you got into it with him. Seems he wasn't always so high class.

A few inmates made the mistake of misreading him as a pansy when he first arrived. They attacked him in the showers, and while he didn't walk away unscathed. . .neither did they. At times, his perfect diction would slip, and suddenly, he didn't sound so high-class. He was distant with almost everyone, but he was less distant with the guys who spent time in the prison library. Them, he would actually talk to.

It was also known that he was serving his term until he could be transferred to a federal prison. Almost against their wills, a number of the guards actually liked him. Among them was one of the men now escorting him back to his cell. His name was Emmett Talbot, and he was sixty years old. In the six months he had known Ian Howe, prisoner 041759, he had never seen that lost expression on his face before. And it worried him. It worried him, because some of the other prisoners might take it as opening season on the Englishman.

He asked gently, "That girl. . .what did she want, Ian?" Howe jolted, his eyes reflecting wariness. Talbot shook his head, and said, "Look, kid. I've known you for six months. I've listened to you talking to the boys in the library when you see what they're reading. I've also watched you holding back when the boys decide to welcome a child molester when one of the guards screws up. I know most of your expressions. And I know when something's wrong."

At first, Talbot didn't think the younger man would answer, but at last, he said softly, "Her name is Jocelyn Ramsey, and we were once lovers. She's the mother of my child. Annie." Talbot said nothing, and the prisoner continued, "She came here today. . .I hadn't seen her in so long. She came because my little brother and my baby girl have been kidnapped. There's a good chance they were taken because of me."

Now Talbot could hear the raw anguish in the young man's voice. He started to say something, anything that would comfort Ian, but he wasn't finished. The prisoner said softly, "She's only eight, my Annie. I changed my name to protect my brother, I sent Jocelyn away to protect her and Annie, and it wasn't enough, dammit! They still found my girls. Still found my little brother, and I don't even know whom it was."

Talbot had been in the corrections system too long to think it would end here. Jocelyn Ramsey came here, not just to tell Ian what happened, but to ask for his help. Because of the nature of Ian's crimes, she had to have approval to do that. Talbot asked softly, "So what are they gonna do, kid? She came here for a reason, and not just to tell you that someone snatched your little girl."

"Jocelyn's best friend is an FBI agent in Charlotte, North Carolina. . .the main office. She's going to her immediate supervisor, to see if they can work out a deal where I can get out of here long enough to help them find Cam and Annie. Jos thinks it'll help when my parole comes up for review. I have to get out of here, Talbot. I can't just sit here while my brother and daughter are in trouble," Ian replied, his voice taut with desperation.

Talbot couldn't blame him. His own daughter, Ladonna, was thirty-eight. . .but he would do anything to get her back safely, if something happened. She had way too much to live for. A husband, three wonderful kids, and a career she fought for. Ian was guided into his cell, and Talbot said gently, "I'll pray for her, Ian, and you too." For a moment, he thought Ian would laugh in his face, and tell him what to do with his prayers. He knew Ian didn't believe in God.

But the blond man surprised him with a harsh bark of laughter, saying, "Right now, I'll take all the help I can get. She's my baby, Talbot, my only child! I don't get a chance to see her, not that often, but she's my little girl. I. . .I sent her and her mother away, before Annie was even born, so people couldn't use them to get to me, so people couldn't hurt them." Talbot shook his head gently.

In his eyes, that was a mistake. You kept the people you loved close, because it was easier to watch over them when they were close by. But Ian's heart was in the right place. He looked at Ian sympathetically, then continued on his way.

He was halfway to the staircase, when a young voice demanded, "Hey! What's goin' on with Ice?" Talbot stopped and regarded the owner of the voice. Paul Nichols was a nineteen year old kid. . .in jail for killing his father, after catching him molesting his little sister. The boy latched onto Ian Howe, who actually seemed to like him. Paul gave Ian his nickname of 'Ice,' for his blond hair and distant demeanor.

Before finding his traumatized eleven year old sister, Paul was an honor student in college, achieving Dean's List in his first semester at college. That was one reason Ian liked him. . .he was damn smart. He just didn't think. . .or didn't care about the consequences to himself. It was hard to be sure. Talbot just knew that Paul said more than once that he wished his own father was more like Ian. Now that the guard knew about Ian's daughter, the pain in the older prisoner's eyes when he heard about Paul's father made a lot more sense.

The boy was watching Talbot warily, but the guard could see the genuine concern for the boy's hero. _I wish he was my old man_, Paul said more than once, _he would have never touched Kaylee like that. He would have never hurt her. _Yeah, the kid was right. Howe mentioned that he sent away his young lover and their unborn child to protect them. Not only would Howe have never touched his daughter in an inappropriate way, he probably would have killed anyone who did.

Before Talbot could answer, Paul's cellmate, Hector Winters, returned from his own visit. The older prisoner said, "He got a visit from his girlfriend. His brat is missing." Paul's eyes narrowed. Winters added, "Tell ya, Howe's got NO taste. A sophisticated guy like that, and he boinks a dog. He could have any woman he wanted. . .any woman in the world. . .and he slept with her. Unbelievable."

Both Paul and Talbot were on the verge of answering, when Talbot realized the entire level had gone silent. A cool voice came from several cells down, observing, "Be advised, Mr Winters, I can hear quite well. And I will thank you not to speak of her in such a manner again. Then again, I shouldn't expect the likes of you to appreciate Jos. That requires far more intelligence and far more class than you possess."

An '_ooooooooh_' went up from the other inmates, and before Winters could make things worse, Talbot called, "Pipe down, Howe, unless you want to make things more difficult for her and your daughter." The silence from Ian's cell told him that he hit his intended target. Satisfied, Talbot turned his attention to Hector Winters, adding, "And as for you, I wouldn't be so quick to shoot your mouth off. I've seen your woman, and you got no room to talk."

This was greeted with cheers and catcalls. More than one prisoner banged on their bars with whatever they had handy. Talbot ignored them all, focusing instead on Winters. He was real good at that. . .he had plenty of practice of shutting out the unwelcome noise. Too bad he couldn't do the same with unwelcome people. Winters growled at him. Talbot wasn't afraid of him, though. He was one of the biggest cowards in the joint, a coward and a weasel. The guard continued after a moment, "Let me give you a word of advice, Mr Winters. You don't want Ian Howe as an enemy. He's far more imaginative than you are, and he's ruthless. . .a very dangerous combination."

He held Winters' eyes for a moment longer, as the door slid shut between them. Then he broke eye contact, nodded to his companion, and the pair walked away. The guard who accompanied Winters back from the visiting area said quietly, "Personally, I think the people who have the most to worry about are the ones who took Howe's daughter. Not just because of what he'll do to 'em, but what her mama will do to 'em."

"Amen to that. Like my wife always said. . .never get between a lioness and her cubs. C'mon. Shift finishes in twenty minutes, let's get a cup of coffee or something, while the new shift comes on," Talbot answered. The younger guard didn't need any time to think over that. . .he nodded enthusiastically. But as they walked, Talbot couldn't get that look out of his mind. . .the look on Ian Howe's face when he saw his former lover at the table. Joy, followed by confusion, followed by terror. Wherever Annie Howe was, he hoped she was all right, and would be back in her mother's arms before too long.

* * *

He. . .hurt.

He hurt all over. But as Cameron McDowell fought his way back to consciousness, that discovery was overshadowed by something else. He blocked the pain out of his mind, as best he could, and focused on what seemed wrong. Aside from the agony even now pulsing through his body. It was a noise, yes, it was a sound. He released a breath, remembering what the men said when they invaded Jocelyn's home. Ian. This was about his brother.

It would make his brother so angry when he found out, and find out he would. Ian devoted his life to protecting his brother. When Cam had too much to drink, he blamed himself for his brother's dance along the line between law-abiding and law-breaking. Jocelyn, of course, set him straight. She told him bluntly that he was being foolish, and that Ian made his own choices in his life. His own choices, his own mistakes. Sweet Jocelyn. He was just grateful she wasn't at home. Things would have been much uglier.

At the same time, he knew that things began with an act against Cam, when he and Ian were still children. Cam was. . .how old was he? Nine? Ten? He ran afoul of some of the neighborhood bullies. God knew, that wasn't hard to do. He was a small boy, smaller than the average boy of his age, and even then, it was no secret than Ian McDowell was ferociously protective of his only sibling. If you wanted to strike at Ian, you went after Cam.

And they did. Four boys, all around the same age as Ian, isolated him from his friends after school one day. He didn't even know why they were angry with his brother. He just knew that he was made to pay for whatever happened.

Cam was bedridden for weeks after the beating. Ian was fifteen or sixteen, a lanky boy with a temper and a ferocious desire to make a better life for them. They lived with their aunt Norah, their father's older sister, ever since their parents' deaths the previous year. She was 'the maiden aunt,' which was just another way of calling someone a spinster. She never married, never had an interest in being married, but she was devoted to her two nephews. If she had a favorite, neither ever knew about it.

Aunt Norah didn't approve of Ian's attempts to bring money in for the struggling family. His jobs weren't always legal, and she was afraid that he would either be dead or locked in jail for the rest of his life before he even reached adulthood. But one thing she would not tolerate was someone hurting either of her nephews. The day after a furious Ian carried his half-conscious brother home, Aunt Norah told him that she didn't see whatever he did next.

Someone had to be taught a lesson, she told her oldest nephew. Ian took her meaning immediately. The very next day, he gathered his best school chums together and tracked down the bullies who attacked Cam. Neither Aunt Norah nor Cam had any idea what was said or done. They just knew that Ian began changing. He was still sweet, gentle, loving Ian at home. He still took care of Cam and Aunt Norah whenever they couldn't take care of themselves.

But it almost seemed as if something deep inside him snapped. He no longer avoided the illegal jobs that came his way. He just didn't care any more. When Ian was twenty-two, he was arrested for the first time. Aunt Norah was at a loss of what to do. But not Ian. Never Ian. He called her to his prison cell, his face marred with terrible bruises. But his eyes were determined. With this last job, he made enough money for Aunt Norah to buy two plane tickets, and leave the country. Take Cam and go to the States, or to Australia, New Zealand, wherever.

Aunt Norah didn't want to go. Neither did Cam, but Ian insisted. He was the man of the house now, and as a man, he had to protect his family as best he could. If they remained in England, sooner or later, Ian's enemies would catch up with them. He would take the consequences of his actions upon himself, but there was no way he would allow his family to suffer for it. He was in too deep to pull himself out, and he wasn't sure he wanted to.

But Aunt Norah and Cam? That was another story entirely. Aunt Norah could take Cam away from this. Ian would change his last name, to further protect them from here on out. Cam was sixteen. . .in a few years, it would be time for him to go to University. They could have an all new life. He just wanted them safe. Aunt Norah agreed, only because Ian was determined. She sold the house where the boys grew up, and took Cam first to Ireland, where she and her brother, the boys' father, were born and grew up, then to Australia.

After he finished that first prison sentence, Ian changed his last name to 'Howe.' He had his own little team of safe-crackers and electronic experts. With each job, they got better. And as they got better, they needed less luck to avoid being caught. With each job, Ian sent a little more money to Aunt Norah for when Cam went to University. The younger McDowell brother was fascinated with geology. . .and as he studied more, his interests turned to astronomy. Then, eventually, he fell into researching ways to deflect incoming asteroids and other space debris.

When Cam was twenty-four and working on his doctorate, his brother met a young woman. A girl, really, just a child. But not much younger than Cam himself. At first, Cam didn't know about this, because Ian didn't really tell him about things like rescuing young girls who had more book-learning than common sense. It wasn't until he actually became involved with the girl that Ian told him about her.

Jocelyn Patricia Ramsey. She was a few weeks shy of twenty-one at this point, studying for her Master's Degree and doctorate. Like Ian, she was passionate about history. Ian described her as shy, quiet, feisty, funny and bright. She knew that in England, people drove on the left hand side of the road, but didn't know what the bad parts of town were. Naive, but she learned fast. And there was pride in his voice when he said that.

By this time, Ian was turning his attention to more legitimate pursuits, including funding archaeological digs. But when he fell in love with Jocelyn, he began to make more of an effort to go straight. He didn't want any of his sordid past touching her. Part of what Ian found so intoxicating about her was her innocence. Cam thought his brother had gone barmy, but the girl seemed to make him happy, so he kept his opinions to himself.

Then she learned that she was having a baby. Those were Ian's exact words. "We're having a baby," the elder brother blurted out. Not, 'Jos is pregnant.' Not 'Jos is having a baby.' But 'we.' Over the next several months, Cam was treated to a weekly email regarding Jocelyn's health and the baby growing. In Jocelyn's sixth month, they still hadn't chosen a name, though 'Jos is particularly fond of 'Duncan' for a boy and 'Tessa' for a girl, though I think she's been watching too many episodes of _Highlander_.'

His brother sounded so happy. In his emails, in his letters, in his phone calls. He seemed so happy. And then came the attack against Ian and Jocelyn while she was in her seventh month. She wasn't hurt. . .shaken, but not hurt. Terrified for Ian, but not hurt. Ian, on the other hand, slid into berserker mode, killed the attacker, then had two of his men dump the bloody idiot into the Thames. All of this was done, after instructing Shaw to take Jocelyn home to their flat.

It broke Cam's heart. His brother's joy was shattered, and in his desire to protect his woman and his unborn child, he sent Jocelyn away. She really had no business traveling when she was seven months pregnant, but Ian wanted her safe. He wanted his lover and their little girl safe, because by this time, they knew that Annie was a little girl. Until Annie was five years old, he never saw her. Annie. . .

Annie! It was Annie who was making the noise, it was Annie who was crying! Cam's eyes snapped open. It took him a moment to focus his eyes, then he saw his little niece sitting a short distance from himself. He croaked, almost groaning at the pain, "Annie? Can you come here, Annie Laurie?" The little girl whimpered, then flung herself at him, narrowing missing Cam's broken ribs in the process.

"I was so scared, Uncle Cam! I don't like those men!" she wailed. _Oooh, dial it down, baby girl_, he thought, his head aching, then groaned anyhow. _Damn wankers_.

Cam managed to touch his niece's red hair, hoping to calm her down. He almost did a double take the first time he saw Annie, because her hair was a darker red than his own. It shouldn't have surprised him. . .their father had blond hair, like Ian's, and their mother had dark hair. The coloring of Ian and Jocelyn wasn't so very different. When he and Jocelyn went out with Annie, people often mistook the little girl for Cam's daughter.

Annie was calming down, with that amazing resilience children had. She said, now hiccupping a little, "I didn't mean to hurt you, Uncle Cam. I was just scared. Do you think Mommy's looking for us yet?" Cam didn't know how much time passed while he was unconscious, but one thing he did know. Not only was Jocelyn looking for them, but by now, she had both Danae and Ian in on the search.

When Jos and his brother finally caught up with these wankers, it would be an entertaining show. After knowing Jos for the last three years, he now understood why she still held his brother's heart, even after so many years. Cam, however, just told his little niece, "Your mum is coming for us, Annie Laurie. She's coming for us, and nothing will get in her way. Or your dad's, for that matter." Nothing.

* * *

There was a very good reason why she always wore flats at work. High bloody heels hurt her feet and ankles too bloody much. As she unlocked her hotel room and stalked inside, kicking her shoes off, it occurred to her that after only fifteen minutes with Ian today, she was already picking up on his language all over again. She shook her head grimly. She didn't want to think about Ian right now.

But whether he was present or not, Ian Howe was never easily ignored. He was too. . . too. . .hell. He was Ian. There was no other way to put it. He was Ian. And as Jocelyn double-checked the blinds before stripping down her skivvies, an image of Ian appeared in her mind. Not as she had seen him two hours earlier, but as she saw him twelve years ago, when they first met. His hair was shorter then, though not very short. It was long enough so that it brushedthe nape of his neck and he had bangs.

"Damn you, Ian," she muttered, "can't you stay out of my mind for more than ten minutes at a time?" She had long since forgiven him for sending her away, and even the way he did it. But. . .she worked damn hard to forget him every time he came back into her life, then breezed back out. And every time he came back, he threw everything into chaos. Not the organized chaos she came to expect while raising a small child on her own, but Ian-style chaos, which was a whole 'nother kettle of fish.

He looked good. He looked damn good, though pale. Prison did that to you, or so she heard. _Dammit, Ian, what were you thinking_? Jocelyn sighed, collapsing onto her bed, attired only in her underpants and bra, for the moment. In a moment, she would change into a nice pair of sweats. Right now, it felt too good, being free of the restrictive pantyhose, which were in a heap on the floor, along with the rest of her clothes.

The phone rang, startling her. She stared at it for a long moment, trembling. The phone rang again, and Jocelyn rolled onto her side, staring at it. _Pick it up_, she thought, _pick it up_! But her hand didn't want to move. She was too afraid. Afraid of who might be on the other end of the line, afraid that she would have to take the first ransom call while she was alone and half-naked. The phone rang a third time, and Jocelyn snapped it up, breathing, "This is Jocelyn."

"Josie? It's me, Danae. . .are you all right, cara?" her best friend asked anxiously. With a sound that was a cross between a whimper and a laugh, Jocelyn slumped back against the pillows. Danae. It was Danae. She felt so foolish for being so scared, but now that she was alone again and Ian knew about the kidnapping, her mind was jumping around like the proverbial Mexican jumping bean.

"Fine. . .just had a terrifying thought that you might be the kidnappers," Jocelyn said ruefully. She opted not to tell her friend that she was currently half-naked. That fell under the category of 'things really not important enough to tell.' To say nothing of the banner of, 'things which Danae probably doesn't want to know.' Jocelyn took a deep breath, then said, "I just got back from talking to Ian. How did things go with Special Agent in Charge Carter? Is she willing to at least let you talk to Ian?"

"I'm on my way to the airport now, cara. And I don't blame you for being afraid that I was the kidnappers. You must be even more worried, since you're alone right now. It would make too much sense to call you when you're alone and vulnerable. What can you tell me about Ian? Is he willing to do whatever it takes to get Cam and Annie back?" Danae asked. Jocelyn reached for her sweat pants, tugging them on with one hand. She needed to get dressed now, just in case the kidnappers tracked her down and found out what hotel she was staying at.

"Whatever it takes, Danae, whatever it takes. He. . .I should probably tell you what to expect from him. I know, you've heard me whining in the past about the stunt he pulled before Annie was born, but there's more to him than that, and more to him than just stealing the Declaration of Independence," Jocelyn replied. She paused, her cheeks warming as she remembered just how much more to him there was. _Dial it down, Ramsey_, she told herself, _this is no time to be drooling over your former lover. . .even if he is just as sexy as ever._

"He's Annie's father, cara, and that's all I really need to know. If he's willing to tell us about the people who might have a grudge against him, then it's even more ammunition I have to take to the Attorney General's office when I try to get him released to help us on this case," Danae replied. She paused, then asked almost hesitantly, "I have to ask you this, cara, not because I have to, but because I will be asked. Are you still in love with him, Jocelyn? You aren't going to do anything crazy, are you?"

"I don't know, and not likely. No matter how I feel about Ian, I've got to remember that Annie is my first priority right now. If I do something stupid, I could a) get her killed, or b) end up in jail, and then she'll have both parents in prison. No. I won't do anything crazy to keep Ian out of prison," Jocelyn replied firmly. If anyone was liable to do something crazy, it was Ian himself or Cameron.

She would save her own insanity for when she got her hands on the rat bastards who had her little girl. It sounded callous, that she was more concerned for her daughter than she was for Cam. But he was a grown man, and while the last twenty years of his life were far more stable than Ian's. . .he could be just as much of a scrapper as Ian. He knew how to take care of himself. But Annie was just a little girl. More than that, she was Jocelyn's little girl. And as strong and as smart as Annie was, she was still only eight years old.

As if hearing Jocelyn's promise to seriously hurt the kidnappers, Danae asked a bit slowly, "Uhm, Jocelyn? Cara? You aren't planning to do anything. . .more or less permanent to them, are you?" Jocelyn smiled grimly. Danae knew her too well. . .either that, or she remembered some of the threats Jocelyn issued to Ian's continued health. . .and the continued health of the family jewels. . .after Jocelyn returned to the States.

"I don't know, is the Federal Bureau of Investigation willing to look the other way when I kick the kidnappers and head honcho in the nuts for messing with my family? If there's anything men prize as much as their own lives and their own wallets, it's the family jewels. And believe you me, Danae, if they've hurt my child in any way, I'll see to it that they are incapable of fathering children themselves," Jocelyn answered coolly.

There was a brief silence, then Danae teased, "Has anyone ever told you that you can be a little barbarian?" Jocelyn shrugged. She really didn't give a damn, and Danae knew that. Jocelyn knew what she was capable of doing, she knew that she had her own dark side. The FBI agent continued, "Just do it when I'm not looking, all right? That way, I can tell the attorneys in court that I didn't see you do it, without perjuring myself." Actually, Jocelyn already decided that she would do it when Danae wasn't even in the room.

She knew what her best friend was risking, and Jocelyn wasn't willing to allow Danae to sacrifice her career for her sake. Danae made too many sacrifices for her already. Their friendship hit a rough patch three years earlier, when Jocelyn learned that Danae befriended her in the beginning, to get information about Ian. It took her a long time to forgive Danae for the deception. And it probably wouldn't have hit her so hard, if she hadn't still been reeling from seeing Ian in Myrtle Beach.

However, Ian always threw her out of balance, and that particular encounter was no different. So, she lashed out at Danae when she learned the truth. And it took her several weeks to get over the sense of betrayal, the sense that she was used. However, Cam. . .dear Cam. . .pointed out to her that driving her to the hospital when she went into labor with Annie wasn't part of the assignment. Neither was holding her hand through it all. Of course, Jocelyn was stubborn and wouldn't listen at first. But Cam persevered.

And so did Danae. Through it all, she remained. She wasn't giving up on Jocelyn, not after everything they went through together. They weathered the storm, and when they emerged on the other side, their friendship was stronger than ever. Danae would die for her and Annie; Jocelyn knew that. She also knew that she was tired of losing people she loved, for whatever reason. No. Danae would not lose her career, nor would she lose her life.

The more Danae knew, the better it would be for everyone. So, she told her friend, "I know you need to catch your flight, so I'll let you go. I've booked the hotel room in both of our names, so when you arrive, you can just check in. When you get here, I'll tell you whatever you need to know before seeing Ian." There was no knowledge that wasn't power. And what good was a best friend if you couldn't share that kind of power with them?


	3. Cry For Yesterday

Reviews! 

Alleymap: Ooh, yeah, PrisonSean is wayyyyy too sexy for his own good. . .but that's pretty much standard for Sean Bean in general. Please let me know what you think of _National Treasure_, as Ian Howe is one of my favorite Sean Bean characters, even if he is on the wrong side of the law. I hope I don't spoil the movie too much for you! As promised, here is some Ian/Jocelyn fluff. . .and I'm looking forward to the next chapter of ATAK2. More of _Caught in the Game Again_ is coming, just as soon as dear Alec makes up his mind. (rolls eyes)

Terreis: I know. . .I realized when I posted it that you wouldn't be able to review until you returned to work. Yeah, Cam's a cool character. . .he ain't Ian, but he doesn't try to be. More of him in this chapter, as well as more of Danae. Danae is the prototypical best friend, watching her friend's back even if it isn't necessary. Ian has just informed me that we'll be seeing more of Paul, and I don't argue with Ian. He does realize, of course, that he'll be hearing more from Jos about the whole Declaration business, and he's already girding himself. As for Alec. . .you might wanna give him the Puss-n-Boots look again. He's being most disagreeable right now.

Psycho Elf: Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it. I adore your crossover between LOTR and POTC, especially since Boromir lives.

Coolio: Thank you! Sorry I didn't get you earlier, but I didn't get your review until after I posted the first chapter.

Quick author's note: Jos and Danae refer to 'DOJ' in this chapter. That's just a short way of saying 'Department of Justice.' It's an official abbreviation, found on the state websites when referring to that agency. Oh, and the chapter title comes from the Duran Duran song, _'Ordinary World_.'

Chapter Two

Cry for Yesterday

The young woman striding through the terminal of Raleigh-Durham International Airport would have gained second and third glances for her looks alone. She was tall for a woman, made even taller by the boots she wore. . .a pair of suede black boots that were a gift from her best friend on her thirtieth birthday. Long dark hair swung lightly across the back of her shoulders, framing an exotic, cat-like face.

She was dressed head to toe in black. . .one of the few fashion concepts that she shared with her best friend. Both liked wearing black, both women looked good in black. Jocelyn added with a wry smirk that wearing black actually made her look sexy. It was moments like those that made Danae Marini, born Guadalupe Olivera thirty-two years earlier, want to shake her best friend until her teeth rattled. If she was aware of the stares she brought, she didn't take note. She was dangerous all right. . .just not in the way many of these guys thought, or hoped.

But the law enforcement officers immediately recognized her as one of their own, in the way she carried herself, and the way her eyes took in everything going around her. In the way her mouth tightened when she saw someone who might be trouble, and the minute relaxation when a possible crisis was averted. She flashed one of the security guards a smile, making no argument as the search was conducted of her and her overnight bag. In truth, her mind wasn't on the current searches, but jumping ahead to whatever she would find in Washington DC.

She was reassured during her telephone conversation that Jocelyn was fine. Angry and scared, as she was before she left, but all right. What didn't reassure her was Jocelyn's ambivalence about Ian Howe. That '_I don't know'_ worried the best friend, when Danae asked if she was still in love with him, even if the agent was inclined not to worry about Jocelyn doing something stupid.

Where Ian Howe was concerned, Jocelyn was always a little. . .strange. It was almost like he wove a spell around her, and that worried Danae. No doubt, he was very charming, and he was Annie's father, but. . .but Danae Marini wasn't inclined to forgive him for the underhanded methods he used to protect Jocelyn. It was only slightly better than caveman tactics, and Danae had no patience with that.

She sighed and directed her attention back to what she needed to be doing. Her flight left in thirty minutes, and she was running a _leetle_ bit behind schedule. Danae could have flown out of Charlotte, of course. . .but she had business in Raleigh, and it just made more sense. Danae touched base with her two fellow agents who were observing Jocelyn's house, picked up a few things Jocelyn might want with her until they got Annie back, then proceeded to the airport. One of those items, Annie's favorite doll, was tucked under her arm. Maybe that was the reason for those stares. It just wasn't common to see a grown woman clutching a rag doll.

Her suspicion was borne out a moment later when a voice asked with some amusement, "You look to be too old to be playing with dolls, lady." Danae turned to face a man, about her own age, who was currently going through the security checkpoint. He was already on her black list, for mentioning the doll. However, she meant to turn around and walk away, when he added with a smirk, "I'm sure someone who looks like you can find a better. . .playmate."

His eyes raked over her body in a suggestive manner, and one of the security guards made a move to come to her rescue, but Danae shook her head. The guard backed off, trusting her to know what she was doing. Danae stared at the man now leering at her and replied, "This doll is for my niece. Not that it's any of your concern. And I have no trouble whatsoever finding. . .playmates. However, I prefer grown men, instead of over-sized little boys."

His eyes flashed and he started forward. _Dio mio. . .stupid as well as lewd_! Danae snapped, "I would advise you not to do anything stupid. In the first place, you are in a security checkpoint and there are security guards around. In the second place, attempt to strike me, and you'll be facing criminal charges for attacking a law enforcement officer. . .a federal law enforcement officer at that. Agent Danae Marini, FBI, at your service."

The last three words were accompanied by a mocking bow. The man looked around, seeking someone to take his side and finding no one. The security guards were all watching him closely, expressions closed off. Danae added with a smirk, "Move along. . .you're causing delays to those behind you, and you really don't want to make them mad, now do you?" The security officials were all grinning, and this time, when Danae turned her back, there were no further interruptions. And a good thing. . .she had no intention of missing her flight.

Danae knew that the guards would have come to her rescue. Most of the Southern males she encountered were true gentlemen, though she had a hard time getting used to it. After living in North Carolina for the last eight years, she learned quite a few things about the South. Some of it, came from her friendship with Jocelyn. She was born here and lived here until she was twenty years old, when she went to England for graduate school. Danae remembered with a grin, how quickly Jocelyn's Southern accent returned after returning home.

She picked up accents quickly when she was away from home for any length of time, but once she returned home, her natural accent came back with a vengeance. Danae just wished she could have heard what Jocelyn sounded like with a hint of an English accent. Which brought her thoughts right back to Ian Howe, but she pushed them aside for now. She was just now reaching her gate, and they were boarding. In just a few hours, she would be in DC and with her best friend. And God help Ian Howe if he did anything to harm Jocelyn, now or later!

* * *

Harming the mother of his child was the absolute last thing on Ian Howe's mind right now, though Jocelyn was the subject of his thoughts. But ever since her visit that afternoon, she hadn't left his mind. She or Annie or Cam. He didn't know yet who was behind the kidnappings, but he didn't care. When he got his hands on them, he would teach them not to harm his brother or his daughter, or make Jocelyn cry.

Ian, like many men, was an absolute mess when it came to crying women. It was even worse for him when the woman rarely cried, or never used her tears for the purpose of manipulation. That was enough to turn him into a puddle. He simply had no defenses against a crying woman. And if it was a woman whom he loved? He was lost. No hope. Gone. He only saw Jocelyn cry three times in the three years he knew her.

The first time was the night he met her, when a wrong turn led her into danger. She collapsed once she was safe, badly shaken but otherwise unhurt, and Ian found himself with an armful of a young graduate student. He led her to a pub where he could calm her down, and find out her name and other such information. In her present condition, a beer didn't seem like a good idea, so he had water brought for her instead.

Her name was Jocelyn Ramsey, and she was twenty years old. Her opening words and accent immediately marked her as American, though it took about twenty minutes to find out what she was doing here. She was a graduate student, but shy to admit what she was studying. She graduated from high school at sixteen (she wasn't brilliant, she told him bluntly, that was her grandmother, but didn't explain further), from college at twenty, and here she was.

She had a Bachelor of Arts from Wake Forest, in her home state of North Carolina, and he was amused at the way her face lit up when she talked about her home. She had no brothers and sisters, and her parents died during her last year of college. When he expressed his condolences, she admitted it was rough. . .and spoke no further about it. Ian, whatever else he was, could take a hint, and dropped the subject. Instead, he asked her if this was her first time in Europe or England.

No and yes, she told him, smiling for the first time. . .this was actually her third trip to Europe, and the first time she had been to England. It was something her father always wanted to do, since their family came from England in the late seventeenth century. Her ancestors were among the first English settlers in the New World. Since he couldn't fulfill those dreams, she would do it for him. Those dreams, and others.

By the time the pub was closing, she was calmer, and he offered to walk her home. She hesitated, then answered wryly, "Well, saying 'no' would be pretty stupid, I think. I got m'self into trouble by bein' by m'self. . .I don't like to make the same mistakes twice. Thanks. I appreciate that." And that was the beginning. He walked her home, her hand slid into the crook of his arm. They didn't talk much. . .she was exhausted, and Ian didn't know what to say.

He made a point to check on her over the next few days, days that turned to weeks, and as the months passed, their friendship blossomed. By the time two months passed since her rescue, Ian was taking two and three hours from his day to spend with her, showing her around London, then eventually the surrounding countryside. They would talk and eat and laugh. . .and he found it very easy to talk to her.

They had so many common interests. Not just history, but they were both fascinated with legends and with archaeology. Ian remembered all of the old stories that his aunt told him about Ireland. . .for that matter, he remembered the stories told him by his Scottish mother of her ancestors, the Picts. The Painted Men, they were called. And of course, how could he leave out the stories about King Arthur? Arthur and the Round Table. Lancelot, Guinevere. Tristan. . .Mark. And both preferred classical music.

She listened most of the time. She did a lot of that. Listened. And sometimes, she asked a question he couldn't answer. He would have to look it up, then tell her the next time they were together. That was something he liked about her. She forced him to look at things in a different way. Sometimes, she would share stories of her own. Usually, they were stories from her family. There was an ancestor of hers who was presumed lost as a baby, during the crossing to the New World, only to be found safe once they arrived.

Since she was from the American South, she spoke with an accent he found utterly charming. Ian learned early on that Jos had a wealth of stories about her home state. She told him about pirates and rebels, criminals and heroes. And the stories didn't stop with North Carolina, either. Her closest living relative was a cousin who lived in New Orleans, Louisiana. Jos visited her a few times, and came away with some extraordinary ghost stories. In Jocelyn's own words, the city was a supernatural magnet.

And her cousin knew it. She was considerably older than Jocelyn. . .forty to Jocelyn's twenty. In some ways, she became a second mother to Jocelyn after the girl's parents died. Ian heard all about her, too. Pauline was ferociously protective of her young cousin. . .she had no children of her own, and Jocelyn was actually the daughter of her cousin, her favorite cousin. Pauline taught Jocelyn everything she could about what she knew. What she knew, Jocelyn never explained to Ian, and he didn't ask. Sometimes, it was better not to know.

It wasn't a matter of trust. . .not entirely, at least. More to the point, it had to do with family. Jocelyn trusted him. He knew that. After three months, when they went out on their excursions, Jocelyn often slipped her hand into Ian's. And that was the crazy part, because he didn't notice it. . .it was just. . . there. By the time he realized it, it felt too natural to stop. He liked holding her hand. Liked the trust implicit in the gesture.

Ian still didn't know at what point he realized he was in love with her. It was after he kissed her for the first time. That much, he remembered clearly. Even when he held her hand as they walked, it never really occurred to him that his feelings were changing. In the darkness, Ian smiled, remembering. He invited her over to his flat, because her own flat mates were driving her crazy. Besides, he had said, he could use her opinion on something.

By this time, they knew each other well enough to feel comfortable in each other's spaces. She knew that when he was inviting her to his flat, it was to do whatever he said he needed help with. . .not a cheap attempt by Ian to get her into his bed. He was just learning the internet, and needed assistance. Jocelyn, not surprisingly, had the beast tamed within moments, and they spent the rest of the time talking. After leaving Ian's newly-purchased and tamed computer, they went into the main room, where the conversation continued.

Sometimes, he forgot just how young Jocelyn was. Of course, he realized, in his mind, that she was only in her early twenties. And he never spoke about his time in prison. But that was different. She didn't seem that young to him. Unless it came to his time in prison, he never thought about her age. It simply wasn't an important matter.

Even when his contemporaries were around, it didn't occur to him, because she could talk about history as well as any of them. They might have noticed that she was considerably younger than anyone else (they did notice and commented on it frequently). But he usually ignored these comments. And it never really occurred to him, though he saw her admiration, just how she might see him.

Ian couldn't remember clearly what was said or done. His recollection of the small things from that day somewhat escaped him. He was telling her about some of the extreme sports that intrigued him. What was it? Perhaps it wasn't important, but what was important was Jocelyn's reaction. She replied, "Oh, I hope I can do that when I'm your age." Ian had stopped, turned around from studying a picture on the wall, and stared at her, absolutely befuddled by her statement. When she was his age?

He was hurt at first. . .what, did she think he was old? He was only thirty! Not only was that not decrepit, that was bloody young! Unless you were talking about _Logan's Run_, which they weren't! He asked very carefully, "Are you calling me old, Jos?" Her jaw dropped, as if she was just now realizing what she said. Her mouth worked, and Ian's hurt pride began to disappear with her obvious astonishment. That wasn't what she meant at all. Now, he looked at her with almost a wicked playfulness. And he repeated, stalking toward her with a feral grin, "Are you calling me old?"

Jocelyn began backing away from him, looking around nervously for an escape route of some kind. Her expression was somewhere between amused, worried, and. . .something else. Ian just kept coming, even as she tried to find a way out. Each time she moved in a direction, he cut off her escape route. Old? He would show her old. It should be noted that his plans were of the mischievous kind, rather than of the proving virility sort. That was the intention, at least.

Either Jocelyn didn't realize, she didn't care, or she might have seen another possibility in his eyes. However it happened, she only had a chance to get out, "Now, Ian. . ." before he was upon her. He scooped her into his arms, then dumped her onto the davenport. Jocelyn tried to scuttle out of the way, but Ian was having none of that. He fell atop her, tickling her mercilessly. She squealed and giggled, sounding like a little five year old girl.

And then. . .why could he never remember how exactly their lips met? Why could he only remember her mouth under his, and the jolt of electricity that shot through his body? As important as Jocelyn became to him, one would think that he could recall what happened between tickling her, and kissing her. He could remember how bright her eyes were as she squirmed and giggled. . .just not how his lips came to meet hers.

Perhaps it didn't matter. Perhaps all that mattered was that first passionate kiss, whichset every nerve-ending in his body tingling. They parted after a moment. Ian stared down at her, not entirely sure where that came from, or even what he should say. This was Jocelyn, after all, his friend and. . . this couldn't be right! Jocelyn asked softly, "Ian?"

Just that. Just his name. And his blood turned to fire, all over again. It never had an effect like that before. Just hearing her name from his lips. Why was it happening to him now? What was happening to him? This didn't make any sense to him. Of course he kissed women before, and he desired women before. But this. . .this was something different. This was. . .

Ian shook his head, silencing her and clearing his head at the same time, but the confused expression remained. He took several deep breaths, trying to work it out in his head. It made no sense. This was Jocelyn, his friend. He shouldn't be reacting like this. What was he supposed to do now? He had to decide soon, because he was keeping a lady waiting. And so, he kissed her again, because he wanted to make sure it wasn't a fluke.

It was anything but a fluke. If the first kiss electrified his nerve-endings, then the second kiss, to use a popular expression among American teenagers, the second kiss rocked his world. When he thought about Jocelyn over the next three years, he divided his life into two sections. Before kissing Jocelyn and after kissing Jocelyn. Such was its effect on him. This time, the kiss lasted much longer, and only the need to breathe forced the breaking of the kiss.

He stared down at her and smiled faintly, whispering, "Well. I certainly wasn't expecting this." He stroked a lock of hair from her eyes, successfully preventing her from going anywhere by pinning her. Not that she seemed inclined to move. She was actually regarding him as if she didn't know what to make of him, and it was starting to disturb Ian. He tried to make light of it, adding, "In case you're wondering, I didn't ask you to my flat to seduce you."

She smiled at that, her eyes lighting up, and replied, "You didn't? I think I find that disturbing." Ian scowled, and she just laughed, saying, "Don't scowl, Ian. . .you're cute when you scowl, but you're a lot cuter when you smile. Or pout. Yeah. Just like that." He was not pouting! Jocelyn giggled then, adding, "Yes, you're pouting, and you're utterly adorable when you do. Then again, you're adorable no matter what."

Adorable? Was this a good thing or a bad thing? He brushed her lips again, and neither spoke for a long time. Even after they came up for air. His mind was still reeling from the kiss. After all, this was Jocelyn. His young, funny, bright, feisty, shy friend who would be going home to the States in two and a half years. She was his friend, not his lover. But that kiss. . . He asked hoarsely, "Is this a good thing? Being adorable?"

Her smile turned almost wistful as she replied, "Oh Ian. . .don't you know by now how I feel about you?" Actually. . .no. He didn't. He hadn't the first idea, and his world was rocked for the third time in the last ten minutes. Jocelyn. . .but. . . He was having a hard time thinking right now, especially since his lower half was starting to realize that he was pressed against her, and it was reacting accordingly. Ian bit his lip hard as it became very hard to breathe properly. Why he was biting his lip was up for debate. . .it certainly wouldn't help with his breathing!

As if his suddenly tight trousers weren't bad enough, Jocelyn could feel. . .his reaction to her. Her eyes widened and she whispered, "I'm doing that?" Ian Howe didn't blush. He never blushed. He had been around entirely too much to blush, seen and done entirely too many things even then. . .in jail, out of jail, taking classes, modeling nude for art students. He never blushed. However, at the amazement in Jocelyn's voice and her equally astonished expression. . .Ian blushed. Bright red. To the very roots of his hair.

Yet another reason he forbade his brother and former lover from attending the trial. His body still reacted that way to seeing her, and it made things bloody difficult. It happened three years earlier, in South Carolina. . .whatever possessed him to meet her in a place called 'Barefoot Landing,' of all things? When he was with Jocelyn, even the most innocent things had erotic meanings. There were times when he genuinely hated having such a vivid imagination.

And now, it was happening again. Here. In prison. A disaster just waiting to happen, and Ian was determined not to give his fellow inmates any weapons to use against him. He slipped his hands around the headboard of his bed, clenching his teeth. He forced back a groan, because any sound of distress or pleasure would draw unwanted attention. And as he always did, Ian rode it out. There was no other choice. Focus on Annie and Cam, only on them. That was the plan, at least.

But, instead, his mind lingered on Jocelyn. The night they met was the first time he saw Jocelyn cry. The second time. . .the second time was when they were attacked. Of course, he saw her get teary-eyed on occasion. . .but she rarely broke down and sobbed her heart out. That was one of the few exceptions. Ian was taking Jocelyn home from her doctor's appointment. They just found out that the baby was a girl. Shaw insisted on accompanying them to the appointment. He would never tell Ian why he did that. Why he insisted that he should go with them. Even to the day he. . . Ian retreated from that thought. Shaw never told him why.

The bloody idiot who attacked them never had a chance to hurt Jocelyn, who was leaning heavily against Ian at this point in her pregnancy. It was throwing off her sense of balance, and rather than place the life of her child at risk, she accepted the offers of help. Shaw walked a few steps behind the couple, so when the attacker struck, it was a simple matter to wheel Jocelyn around, where Shaw could catch her.

He did, easily. . .he scooped her into his arms, allowing Ian to focus on the bloody eejit who made the mistake of attempting to harm his family. Shaw carried her the rest of the way home, going so far as to put her into bed and make tea for her. When Ian returned home a few hours later, a little bruised and battered, but otherwise unharmed, he found Jocelyn half-asleep. She jolted awake when he sat down on the bed with a barely suppressed groan.

It wasn't his intention to wake her. Just to lie down beside her, and thank any deity listening that she was alive and the arse never had an opportunity to hurt her or the baby. But she woke up, saw him, and threw herself into his arms. She sobbed his name over and over again, and Shaw said softly from the doorway, "She was never once afraid for herself, boss. . .just for you."

Shaw disappeared then, leaving Ian to comfort the shaken young woman. After a time, her sobs eased and she fell into an exhausted sleep. Ian, however, remained awake for hours. Shaw and the other men knew where the body was. . .they would dump him into the Thames. Ian didn't care what they did with him, truly. . .he just wanted to lay here, with Jocelyn in his arms. And it was that night which led to the third time he saw her cry, for he made a decision.

She couldn't remain in England with him. Not if he wanted to keep her and the baby safe. Jocelyn received her doctorate weeks earlier, and the time was coming to make a decision anyhow, about whether she would stay in England and teach, or go home to North Carolina and find something there. Ian had more than his share of enemies. He knew that. He also knew that he couldn't allow his Jos, or his daughter, to pay for those mistakes. If he wanted to protect the woman he loved, he had to give her up.

He also knew that she would never go willingly. Jos was just as stubborn. . .just as willful as he was. She would never consent to being sent away. So, he played dirty. He had no choice, because he had no defense against her tears. He knew. . .he knew, with every fiber of his being. . .that the one thing that could convince him not to send her away were her tears. He was right. She was already starting to wear him down, when he reached into his pocket for the hypo. It was now or never.

He could still see the shock in her eyes, then the betrayal, before she went limp in his arms. He caught her easily and lowered her into the wheelchair Shaw provided. Shaw would go with her all the way to the States. He would fly back once she was settled. And a cover story was created, for the reason for her slumber. She was going home to have her baby, but she was terrified of flying. A doctor prescribed a sedative. Shaw wasn't her husband, but a business associate of her husband, who would see to it that she arrived safely. . .her brother would take over then.

Ian only saw Jocelyn cry three times. But as the plane taxied from the runway, he stumbled into the men's room and retched, then wept. He was thirty-three years old. . .he didn't cry when his parents were placed into the cold earth. He didn't cry when he said good-bye to his aunt and brother ten years earlier. But he cried then. One other thing happened. His heart began to harden, to shield himself from further hurt.

At least, that was what he thought. Until he saw Jocelyn again. . .first in South Carolina, then at the prison. He was still in love with her. And thanks to his stupidity with the Templar Treasure, he was even more vulnerable now than ever. If only, if only, if only. . .if he never heard of that damn treasure, he wouldn't be here. . .and he would have been in England. Where he couldn't protect his family. _One stupid move after another, Ian old man_, he thought grimly, _don't be stupid now. Annie's life depends on it, and so does Cam's._

* * *

Cameron McDowell was experiencing a sleepless night as well, though for vastly different reasons. Where Ian was struggling with pangs of desire and guilt, Cam was struggling with agony from being beaten. Annie was asleep, thankfully, her head resting against his shoulder. His good shoulder, thankfully. And Cam swore when he got out of this situation, once his brother and Jos came, that he would make the jackasses pay.

He actually wasn't looking to get beaten up. He didn't like being beaten up, didn't like being in pain, and certainly didn't like being helpless. But one of the thugs tried to hit Annie, and Cam took exception to that. He, in turn, took exception to his taking exception. Not that Cam would change anything. No one hurt a little girl, much less his niece, much less. . .what exactly was Annie to him, anyhow?

For that matter, what was Jos? This was quite possibly the strangest relationship he ever had. . .and what was even stranger was, he liked things just the way they were. When they first met, three years earlier, Jos was wary of him. Wary of his relationship with Ian, especially since she was still angry with him. Wary, too, that she would do wrong by him. Cam wasn't blind. He knew that he bore a striking resemblance to his older brother. How could he miss that fact?

By the same token, how could Jos miss it? She was afraid, he knew. . .right from the beginning. He saw that she was afraid that she would rebound with Cam, mistake him for his brother, and so for a long time, she kept him at arms' length. Something that both amused him and annoyed him. All right, he felt insulted by it. But at the same time, he found it hard to blame her. Especially since he felt the same way. Bah. There were times when he really hated his ability to see both sides of a question.

Now, however, was not among them. He re-directed his mind away from the puzzling question of his relationship with Jocelyn, and thought about the men who brought them here. It worried him. He couldn't tell whom they were. . .couldn't even tell what kind of an accent they had. He knew that his abduction, and Annie's, had something to do with Ian. However, his brother went from one side of the law to the other and back again countless times over the last twenty years, so it was anyone's guess who was the responsible party this time.

Cam shifted, ever so slightly, careful not to wake Annie. He loved Ian. . .the man, in so many ways, was the perfect older brother. All right, so he had a tendency to get in over his head (_cough_BenGates_cough_). But he really did try to protect Cam and Aunt Norah. Cam grinned, then winced at the bruises on his face. Wankers. Bloody eejits. Arses. It occurred to him, while he was halfway between out cold and in agony, that maybe he was mistaken for Ian.

After all, they were brothers. . .there were differences, of course. Cam had red hair and blue eyes, while Ian had blond hair and green eyes. And Cam had an Australian accent, where Ian had an English accent. But their features were similar (down to their smiles, Jos told him once). . .they had roughly the same build (though Cam was a mite taller than his older brother. . .something he pointed out to Ian every chance he got). They were both tall and slender.

Only trouble with that was, they**knew** he was Ian's brother. Damn. That was one theory shot to hell. And he didn't know why it was so important that he knew why they were taken. It wasn't as if he could reason with their kidnappers. The hatred in their eyes made it clear to the scientist that they would just as soon kill him as look at him. So, why bother? Why bother trying to figure it out?

Because he needed a focus. He needed a distraction, away from the pain in his chest and ribs and head. Away from the fear that caught his lungs in a vise-grip. Away from the sheer fury and helplessness that kept overwhelming him when he tried to think. And he was afraid. Not just for himself, and not just for Annie. That fear was paling beside a new one. He was afraid for Ian. Cam and Annie were just a means to an end. Ian was that end, and he didn't know what they planned to do to his brother.

Maybe it didn't matter. The easiest way to hurt Ian was always through those whom he loved. It always was. . .even when they were children. Cam. . .Aunt Norah. . . Jos. . . Annie. By now, Cam was sure that his brother knew everything. The kidnappers had his brother and daughter. Aunt Norah was beyond them. She died ten years earlier, and this was the first time he was grateful for that. These monsters couldn't hurt her. But there was still Jos. Jos was the last person before reaching Ian himself.

Not that it would be easy getting to her. There was the matter of Danae Marini. The sheila who loved to play up the fiery Latina stereotype. It amused her, she of the Italian last name, and the Central American background. Danae would protect Jos with her dying breath, and so would the rest of her fellow agents. Jos wasn't a law enforcement officer, but she was still a member of the family. Her friendship with Danae made her one of the family, because you'd never find two sisters closer.

_Jos will be fine_, he told himself. _She's smart and she's a lot stronger than these wankers think. She could have never lived with my brother for two and a half years if she wasn't smart and strong_. Yeah, Cam loved his brother, but he also knew Ian could be somewhat. . .overbearing. Difficult, even. Jocelyn's favorite term was obstinate. Usually, too, it was not used in a complimentary manner.

It took Jos a long time to forgive Ian. And Cam understood that. His brother could be high-handed and under-handed at the same time. At the same time, Cam wasn't sure he wouldn't have done the same thing. Ian was desperate. . .and desperation led to stupidity. Including talk to a friend about a sedative to make his pregnant girlfriend sleep during the flight, so she wouldn't argue with him about staying. At least he was smart enough to make sure the aforementioned sedative wouldn't be harmful to a pregnant woman or her unborn child.

And make sure of its safety before plunging it into her hip in the middle of a crowded airport. Why Ian told him about that, Cam wasn't sure. Was he looking for absolution? Why, exactly, did he tell Cam about that afternoon? Why did he tell him about the tears and the desperation in Jocelyn's eyes when she repeated, time after time, that her choice was to stay with him. . .that she belonged with him?

Why did he tell him about catching his beloved Jos as the sedative took effect, and whispering, "I will always love you," before easing her into the wheelchair provided by Shaw? The only person who could grant him absolution was Jocelyn herself, and Cam wasn't sure if that would ever happen. Even now, after all these years, there was bitterness in her voice when she mentioned her return home.

She knew, intellectually, that Ian was trying to protect her. However, knowing something in your heart was quite different from knowing in your mind. And to her credit, she never made the attempt to drag Cam into the middle of it. She never bad-mouthed his brother. And she certainly never bad-mouthed Ian to their daughter. This was more than he could say for most divorced couples. But the bitterness, and the hurt, remained.

_Maybe_, Cam thought as he carefully adjusted Annie against his body, _maybe this will end up being a good thing. Those two have some serious unresolved issues to work out. And before either of them can move on, they have to deal with it. Jos with her sense of being betrayed, and Ian with his guilt_. Yes. That was why Ian told him about that afternoon. But he was seeking absolution from the wrong person.

"Still awake, are you, Dr McDowell? Don't look so surprised. I know a lot about you. About your brother, and the little brat asleep in your arms right now. And oh yes, I also know about your brother's whore," came an unfamiliar voice in the darkness. Cam froze. Number one, he didn't appreciate not seeing to whom he was speaking. Number two, he really didn't appreciate this wanker calling Annie a 'brat.' And number three, he really, really didn't appreciate Jos being called a whore. Much less Ian's whore.

"Then you know that you'll have to answer to my brother for whatever you do to us," Cam replied calmly. The other man roared with laughter, and Cam gritted his teeth. If he got out of this, when he got out of this, he would shove this man's teeth right down his throat. Teach him to laugh at the McDowell family and attack the Ramsey women! On second thought, maybe he should save some for Ian. His brother would be most put-out with him, otherwise.

"Oh my dear Doctor, that is the idea. You see, I have some unfinished business with your dear brother. And after I finish with him. . .well, then. . .it's the whore's turn," the owner of the voice returned. He still couldn't identify the man's accent, but at least now he knew it was a man. Though the ringleader might still be female. Either way, he meant harm to Cam's family.

_Over my dead, lifeless body_, Cam vowed silently. He would kill this man with his bare hands if it was necessary! He said aloud, "You're assuming, of course, that my brother doesn't take you out first. If you know Ian, then you also know he's smart. He'll smell a trap. . .and he'll smell a rat. I'd advise you not to underestimate him." He was rewarded with a sharp kick to his side, and Cam bit back a groan of pain.

"When I wish for your advice, Dr McDowell, I will ask you for it. Until then. . .be silent, and you may live long enough to see your brother die. Tell me you never think of it. . .of taking your brother's whore. Tell me that you never think about making him pay for what he's done to you. Tell me, and I might let you warn him," the other replied. Cam started to speak, to defend his brother and himself. Started to tell him that Jos was no whore. But another kick silenced him, and by the time he got his breath back, he was alone again.

_Bloody wanker_, he thought, wincing and trying to breathe through the pain, _bloody stupid wanker_. And he wasn't sure if he meant himself or his captors. _Watch out, brother. I don't know whom this arse is. . .but watch your back. Something's wrong with this picture, and I can't figure out what that something is._

* * *

Life. . .was. . .good.

Eighteen months after recovering the Templar Treasure, Benjamin Franklin Gates was a happy man. As per his agreement with Agent Sadusky, Ben's family was given credit for the recovery of the treasure. He and his wife Abigail had a beautiful home, and an equally beautiful little daughter. . . Betsy Ross Gates. That was his wife's idea. He originally suggested 'Dolly Madison Gates' or 'Abigail Adams Gates,' in keeping with the family tradition.

And he never realized how many potential namesakes his daughter had, until he started doing research at his father's urging. In addition to the other possibilities, there were: Martha Washington Gates; Deborah Sampson Gates; Molly Pitcher Gates. . .so many others. His wife drew the line at Pocahontas Gates or Sacagawea Gates. He couldn't blame her. . .those names were just asking for trouble.

So, Betsy Ross Gates it was, and little Betsy was the light of her parents' lives. She had an honorary uncle in Riley Poole, who finally stopped grumbling about the 'small' percentage he received from the Templar Treasure. And her grandfather. . .Ben had no doubt that by the time Betsy was five, she would be spoiled rotten by her adoring grandfather. _That is_, his father said, _what grandparents are for. To feed their grandchildren plenty of sugar, get them all wired. . .and then send them home with their parents. Paybacks really are hell._

Paybacks really were hell. Maybe that was why he found himself thinking a great deal about Ian Howe over the last several months. His former patron apologized, when they encountered each other briefly during the trial. Ian stuck around just long enough to apologize, then he nodded to his guards, and they moved on. Ben certainly wasn't expecting the apology, and he wasn't especially sure how to react.

What happened to them? Really. . .what happened to them? Ben could have sworn that if they weren't friends, they were on their way, so what happened? And why did he care? It wasn't as if he was particularly interested in forgiving Ian, not after the other man threatened his family. And yet. . .in their last encounter, before the trial, when Ian saw him step out of the shadows during Ian's arrest, there was no malice in the other man's expression. More like exasperation and a rueful admiration for the way Ben played the game.

Ian was charged with theft, destruction of public property, attempted murder, and while he was convicted in the initial trial, the attempted murder conviction was thrown out. Not enough evidence, the judge said, particularly regarding the destruction of the _Charlotte_. If he knew the layout of the ship as well as Mr Gates, there was a rather strong chance he realized Mr Gates could save himself, just as Mr Howe's lawyer observed. This removed the attempted murder charge.

The destruction of the _Charlotte_ could be attributed as much to Ben's own actions as to Ian's, and thus, that was ruled as an accident. Testimony from Ben's father revealed that Ian never made an actual attempt to harm him. This was especially damaging, since Ian's remaining men all said the same thing. If their boss wanted any of the extended Gates family dead. . .they would be. Well, well. . .it looked like there was such a thing as honor among thieves.

The prosecution's case was further complicated when the defense called a young boy to the stand. Nine year old Nathan Jefferson was the youngster whom Riley engaged to help them. It was also Nathan who gave Ian and his men the answers they sought. Did Mr Howe ever attempt to harm him? The little boy saw Ian sitting in the courtroom, smiled brightly at him, and replied, "Nah. He gave me more money than the other guy. He didn't even get mad when I bumped into him!" Ian flashed him a brilliant smile in response. Ben saw that smile, and knew that part of the case was in trouble.

He was right. That exchange served to weaken the picture of the ruthless, cold-blooded thief and assassin being painted by the prosecutor. So. . .Ian Howe was still in jail, but now, he was eligible for parole eventually. Ben didn't know when. . .he didn't care when, as long as Ian stayed away from him and his family. Abigail approached from behind, Betsy resting on her hip, and said softly, "You know. . .you could sit here and stare into the fire until doomsday, but it won't change what's done."

It didn't surprise him that she knew what he was thinking. Ben asked, pulling both his wife and his daughter into his lap, "I just don't get it, Ab. . .why'd he do it? It makes me crazy, because I look at how things might have been, and I think about the testimony. It should have never ended the way it did. . .with such bitterness between us." All right, so all the bitterness was on his end. That didn't mean he had to like it. And he didn't. He didn't like it one bit. Ben shook his head, and his wife slid her free arm around the back of his shoulders, drawing his head to rest against the side of her neck.

"I don't know, Ben. I've never talked about it with you, because the memories were still too fresh for us both, but I don't think he's actually a bad man. He could have hurt that little boy, and he didn't. He could have actually hurt Riley and me, and he didn't. He could have killed the four of us outright, but he didn't. I think he does have good in him. But that isn't our responsibility, it's his," Abigail replied. Ben nodded, understanding and hearing her words, but he was still struggling with his own memories.

"We were on our way to becoming friends, did I ever tell you that? We would play poker. God, I lost to him every time, because he could bluff and I couldn't. Why did he throw that away? Why did he choose the damn treasure over the lives of other people, even his own men?" Ben asked, shaking his head. He didn't understand it. He couldn't understand, and he was almost as obsessed with finding the Templar Treasure.

"I think, perhaps, because if he gave up then. . .then the death of his friend would have no meaning. His friend died for nothing. And his men wanted the treasure as badly as he did. Maybe even more, and maybe they wouldn't have allowed him to give up," Abigail replied. Ben looked up at her in surprise, and she added with a shrug, "Our lives aren't in imminent danger now, Ben. I've had time to think."

She kissed his forehead as Betsy began to fuss, and said, "I'm not saying that I forgive him, Ben. But he seemed genuinely sorry during the trial. Maybe he's had time to think as well. I just know this, Ben. You cannot keep doing this to yourself. Let it go. It's been eighteen months. He's in jail, and likely to be there for a long time to come." She smiled at him, then eased from his lap, carrying the baby with her.

Let it go. Could he do that? He didn't know. In some queer sort of way, it felt almost as if he was still bound to Ian Howe, though Ben couldn't have said by what. Abigail went into the kitchen, and Ben sighed, turning on the television. Sometimes, he wondered why he bothered with the news, since it was the same thing, over and over. However, on this particular night, there was something different.

A child was kidnapped from her home in North Carolina. Ben shuddered, thinking about how he would feel if his Betsy was taken. But there was more. According to the anchor, "Annie Ramsey-Howe is the daughter ofIan Howe, who was convicted last year of stealing the Declaration of Independence. Also abducted was her uncle, Dr Cameron McDowell. . .Howe's younger brother, and a visiting lecturer at the University of North Carolina. Kate?"

A young woman with red hair raised the microphone to her lips, saying, "Little information is available at this time, Nick. No one is saying much. . .not the local police, not the State Bureau of Investigation, and not the Federal Bureau of Investigation. What we do know is that Annie Ramsey-Howe and Cameron McDowell were abducted a few nights ago from the home of Annie's mother, Dr Jocelyn Ramsey."

"Jesus," Ben murmured, sitting forward. Ian had a daughter? His breath caught in his throat a moment later, when a picture of Annie Ramsey-Howe flashed across the television screen. She was just a baby. Eight years old, if that! He shook his head again, staring at the child. What kind of sick bastards took a little girl?

"Dr Ramsey cannot be reached for comment, though unofficial sources tell us that she has flown to Washington DC, where, you'll recall, Ian Howe is currently imprisoned, waiting for an opening at the federal prison. However, there has been no official confirmation of this. For NBS, this is Kate Harte. . .back to you, Nick," the young woman said. Ben slumped back in his chair. Jesus. This was**not **a good thing.

* * *

Ben Gates wasn't the only one watching tv that night. . .especially the nightly news. Jocelyn Ramsey sat on the bed in her hotel room, munching on a pizza and glaring at the television set. These idiots. . .what were they thinking? Did none of them realize that a little girl's life hung in the balance? No, of course not, what was a child's life against ratings? Not that they would be so cavalier with the lives of their own children.

Freaks. Jerks. Idiots. Reporters. Jocelyn didn't like reporters even under the best of circumstances, and this hardly counted as that. Her cousin Pauline was a reporter, but neither woman ever talked about that. Pauline understood the source of her young cousin's frustration and dislike of her profession. It started with the deaths of Jocelyn's parents, and the media firestorm that resulted.

Jocelyn muttered a few more evil words, then tried to turn her attention back to the pizza she ordered from a local pizzeria once she changed into sweats. She was vaguely aware of the noises coming from the hall, since there was a great deal of noise up until around nine or ten at night, when things started to settle down. The door started to open, drawing her attention, and Jocelyn tensed. However, the light revealed that the newcomer was a friend. Jocelyn abandoned her pizza to embrace the weary figure, murmuring, "Danae. I'm so glad you're here."

Danae returned the embrace, answering, "Where else would I be? Dio mio, Josie, what are you doing, watching this drivel?" Keeping an arm around Jocelyn, she steered the other woman back to the bed and turned off the television. Danae nodded approvingly, saying, "Much better, cara. You have enough to worry you right now. How are you feeling, when was the last time you slept? You look awful."

"Gee. Thanks. You're such a balm to my ego," Jocelyn replied and sat down on the bed. However, she knew Danae was right. She was exhausted, didn't eat much of anything, and what she did eat, she could barely taste. Danae sat down beside her, picking up a piece of pizza, and Jocelyn warned, "It's just cheese, Danae, not the supreme." Danae swatted at her, her mouth too full of pizza to answer.

When she could answer, she replied, "It's food, and that's all I care about right now. Oh, here's something that might help. I thought Annie might want it when we got her back." With that, she pulled a familiar item from her coat. Jocelyn wiped her fingers on her sweats, not wanting to get her daughter's doll dirty in any way. Danae added, her own voice shaky, "And don't you dare start crying."

Jocelyn held back her tears, though just barely, tucking the silky dark head under her chin. It was a gift from Ian to Annie on her fifth birthday, a rag doll made the old fashioned way, with the soft body and the corn silk dyed black. It was before he met them in South Carolina, and he thought that she would have Jocelyn's dark hair, rather than the red that resulted from the combination with his blond hair.

Even so, it was one of Annie's favorites, especially after Jocelyn explained the meaning behind the gift. While she was in England, Jocelyn told Ian how her own pioneer ancestresses made dolls for their daughters, for none of them had the money for store-bought finery. In years to come, it would be a connection to their past for Annie. But for now, it was her connection to her daddy, who lived in England. Most of the time.

"Thank you," she whispered hoarsely when she was capable of talking. Danae nodded, her mouth once more stuffed with pizza. Jocelyn cleared her throat, and said, "Okay, I guess I need to brief you on what to expect tomorrow. I'm guessing that tomorrow is when you plan to meet with Ian." Danae shrugged in an '_I suppose so'_ manner, and Jocelyn continued, "The trouble is, I'm not entirely sure how to brief you. I work for Cultural Resources, not DOJ."

And while her best friend did work for DOJ, they didn't always talk about their work. Danae was all too aware of the fine line she walked as an FBI agent, and Jocelyn was just as aware. Nor did she want to put Danae in a bad position.

Her friend answered, licking her fingers clean, "Then we won't consider this a briefing. You tell me more or less what was said when you visited Ian, and if I need clarification, I'll stop you and ask you questions. Just. . .try not to tell me about how handsome he looked, all right? That's way too much information. The important thing, Jocelyn, is that you're not alone anymore. I'm here, and you don't have to carry this burden alone. _Capisce_?"

"_Comprendo_," Jocelyn answered. Danae swatted at her, even as she picked up another piece of pizza. She almost lost her balance and fell backward off the bed. Jocelyn grabbed her wrist and pulled her upright, adding, "And save me a few pieces, will ya. . .I may actually be able to taste something now." Danae swallowed what was currently in her mouth, then poked her tongue out through pursed lips, crossing her eyes at the same time. Jocelyn laughed, some of the heaviness leaving her shoulders. Somehow, they would make this right. All of them.


	4. Meeting of the Minds

A quick announcement before I get to the reviews: I'll be leaving for Hawaii in about three weeks, to visit my younger brother. So it may be a while before I update this again. I have several other stories that haven't been updated for a while, and I'd really like to concentrate on those before I leave. I'll be taking my laptop with me, and I'll work on stories when I'm not playing with my nieces and nephew, and playing tourist.

Reviews:

Hi Meredith! Thank you very much. I'll try to read and review your _Captured_, but I can't make any promises. Between preparing for my trip, trying to find a new job, and working on all ten of my unfinished stories, I don't have the time I like. . .but I will try.

Kat: Oh, Kat. You are wonderful, you know that? You are such an ego boost, I can't begin to tell you. Hope you enjoy the new chapter as well!

Terreis: Well, I'm glad you're back, and all caught up! I thought you might enjoy the flashback. . .the Ian/Jocelyn fluff (mixed with some heartbreak). And I knew you would enjoy the idea of Ian blushing. Heheheh. Yeah, poor Cam really gets put through the wringer. . .kinda like Daniel, now that you mention it. Owie magnet, indeed. And Alec started pouting at the idea of behaving. (sigh) Here's more!

NightBlossom: Thank you! I hope you enjoy the rest of the story!

Heart Bound in Chains

Chapter Three

Meeting of the Minds

They stayed up late that night, talking. Jocelyn explained to Danae in further detail about what happened during her meeting with Ian. Danae listened intently, and tried not to urge her friend to finish the story later. Jocelyn was exhausted. . .beyond exhausted, and now she couldn't fall asleep. Not until she told Danae what she needed to know. Finally, at eleven thirty, Danae had enough. She steered Jocelyn to the bathroom to brush her teeth and change into a nightgown, then steered her right back to bed.

Jocelyn nestled under the covers, still muttering about Danae's meeting with Ian the following day. Danae comforted her, saying everything would be fine, and stroked her hair until Jocelyn finally gave up. Long after her friend was asleep, Danae remained awake. She sat on the bed beside Jocelyn, just in case her friend needed her during the night. She knew Jocelyn too well, and knew there was a better than even chance that she would have nightmares.

That was the case years earlier, after Annie was born, and some of Jocelyn's rage toward Ian was blunted. She began having flashbacks to an attack that took place a matter of weeks before Ian sent her back to the States. Jocelyn believed, and Danae agreed, that it was this attack that prompted Ian to send her and the baby away. Danae rose slowly from the bed, watching Jocelyn carefully. She didn't stir, though, and Danae felt safe in going to her suitcase.

As she sifted through the clothes, searching for her nightshirt, Danae remembered what Jocelyn told her about the attack in question. They were returning from the doctor's appointment. Shaw, Ian's second in command, accompanied them. Ian was nearly delirious with joy, because they just learned the baby was a girl. Most men, in Jocelyn's experience, wanted a son. Not Ian. He wanted a daughter.

They passed the building where Ian and Jocelyn lived, and were heading to a small toy store on the same street. Ian wanted to celebrate. And even Shaw seemed affected by his employer's obvious joy. He was a quiet man, big and menacing, but he had a soft side. He was a sucker for small children and even smaller animals. He was imprisoned for attacking someone whom he caught abusing a puppy. It was in jail that he met Ian, almost twenty years earlier.

On this particular day, Ian's arm was wrapped both supportively and protectively around her waist, and the sun shone down. As Ian and Jocelyn debated the appearance of their unborn daughter, Shaw put in his two cents, saying, "Maybe we'll get lucky, boss. . .maybe she'll have your coloring, but look like Jocelyn. She's a helluva lot prettier than you are, you know."

Ian stared at him in shock for a moment, then burst out laughing. He hugged Jocelyn again, kissing the top of her head, whispering, "Mother of my daughter, angel of my heart. I hope she does look like you." Jocelyn had leaned into him. She wasn't entirely sure how. . .what came next. One moment, they were walking along happily. The next, Ian's entire body tensed. He pivoted, swinging Jocelyn around with him, and Shaw caught her easily.

"Get her out of here!" Ian cried out, his Northern accent thickening as it always did when he was angry, excited or scared. Shaw didn't hesitate. . .he slipped one arm under her knees, kept the other braced under her shoulders, and carried her to safety. Jocelyn was in shock, too stunned to protest. By the time her mind stopped spinning, Shaw had her tucked into bed and placed a cup of tea beside her.

Then she grabbed at his hands, saying, "You have to go back, you have to make sure Ian's all right!" Shaw, though he was big, could be incredibly gentle. He freed his hands from hers and put his hands on her shoulders, calming her down. She still cried, whispering, "You have to go! Please, Shaw, for me. . .make sure Ian wasn't hurt!" It wasn't until much later that she thought about the other man being in danger.

Right then, all she cared about was her baby (who was reacting to her agitation) and her lover. The man holding her gently shushed her, murmuring, "He'll be all right, Jocelyn. You have to calm down now, lass. Shhh. Gotta think of your little girl. Your job is to take care of her, and mine is to take care of you. Drink your tea now, there's a good girl." His voice was gentle and slowly, she began to calm down. The baby was calming down, too.

At last, she asked hoarsely, "Have you ever been in love?" Shaw hesitated, then nodded. Seeing that hesitation, Jocelyn was loathe to ask anything more, but she continued nonetheless, "What happened?" Shaw didn't answer at first. He was quiet, his eyes shifting away from her. Jocelyn was still wired, but slowly, the tea was calming her down. The baby was going back to sleep, but Jocelyn wasn't that relaxed yet.

"She was killed. Back 'fore I met the boss. She was studying to be a vet. So smart, my Jeannie. And she loved animals. She. . .she was killed. I suppose that's why I didn't worry when the boss fell in love with you. You're like my Jeannie. Not so much in looks. Jeannie had red hair and green eyes. Looked a lot like Jean Grey, actually," Shaw replied.

Jocelyn nodded. She was delighted, when she became involved with Ian, to discover that Shaw was also an _X-Men_ fan, and the big enforcer happily discussed both the cartoon series of the nineties and the comics with her. Ian just smiled at them both, pleased that they got on so well. She imagined it made quite the picture, the big enforcer and the diminutive graduate student intently discussing comics and cartoons.

Shaw smiled sadly, adding, "You should rest. I'll stay if you like." Jocelyn gave him a slight nod. It was only now hitting her, what happened. And she would have been terrified anew, but the adrenaline was gone, leaving her exhausted. She closed her eyes and lay back. She really didn't mean to fall asleep. The next thing she knew, the bed was sinking, and she heard what sounded like a muffled groan. This, and the sinking of the bed, woke her.

She opened her eyes, and Ian looked at her sheepishly. He started to say something. . .probably apologize for waking her, but she threw herself into his arms. This time, he couldn't quite stop the gasp of pain, but he held her tightly when she would have released him. She wasn't aware of saying anything. . .anything coherent at least. . .but she heard Shaw say, "She was never afraid for herself, boss. . .just you."

Ian stroked her hair and rocked her from side to side, murmuring, "It's all right, sweet girl, I'm here. Shhhh. I'm alright." He did not, fortunately, mention the condition of the other man. She wasn't sure she would have cared. He would have harmed her and her baby. And she just didn't care. Danae listened intently as the words tumbled from her friend's mouth.

And it was only then that Jocelyn asked softly, "Do you think that makes me bad, Danae? That I didn't care about that man?" Danae shook her head slowly. Jocelyn's only concern was for the man she loved and the child she carried. And that was the way it should have been. If she knew Jocelyn, and she thought she did. . .Jocelyn's only concern after that day was not for the other man's welfare, but for Ian. What killing him did to Ian's soul.

Ian Howe. Just what sort of man was he? Everything she read, and everything she heard, contradicted each other. He was tender and gentle, he was cold and ruthless. He was a marshmallow with children, he was a convicted killer. The man had as many layers as the average onion, and based on what Jocelyn told her, smelled far better. Danae rolled her eyes. Yes, she also heard from Jocelyn about the colognes and aftershaves.

She would find out more tomorrow. For now, she slipped under the covers. The bed was big enough for both her and Jocelyn, even with Josie's habit of tossing and turning. She had a feeling her friend would need her. For now, Danae would watch the late night movies. She had a lot of thinking to do, and she did that best when there were no distractions. Late night movies didn't qualify. They were shown late at night for a very good reason.

She had very little recollection of her life as Guadalupe Olivera. Her parents were killed when she was a very small girl. Three, maybe four years old. Her birth parents, at least. She was adopted by Ted and Rosalie Marini, who had three children of their own, and grew up as a happy child. She didn't learn about her first set of parents until she was sixteen.

Sixteen years old. And she was thirty-two now. Odd, how the memories could still hurt, even after all these years. Maybe that was why she never rolled her eyes and told Jocelyn to get over it while Jocelyn was struggling with her love and hatred of Ian. Because she knew better than anyone else that there was no time limit for grief. People dealt with grief, with trauma, in their own ways. . .and on their own terms.

She was. . .told about her previous parentage on her sixteenth birthday. Danae shook her head, remembering the looks on her parents' faces at the time. One of her aunts, a well-meaning though not particularly bright woman, made reference to the sacrifices her parents made, bringing up someone else's child. Dead silence reigned in the house for several moments. Then Danae's oldest brother, Clint, who was seven years older than she was, said clearly, "Danae is my sister. I am her brother."

And nothing more was said. However, Rosalie Marini glared at her sister with such ferocity, the older woman actually gulped and took a step backward. Danae had no idea how she got through the next few hours. But when the party was over and everyone went home, her parents told her everything. How her birth parents were traveling to San Antonio from their home in Cleveland. The accident that killed them both, and how it was such a miracle that little Guadalupe survived.

Neither of her parents had family, so the Marinis quietly took Lupe in, renamed her 'Danae,' after the mother of the Greek hero Perseus. And they raised her as their own for the next thirteen years. Until that night. Danae was silent for several moments, then asked, "What can you tell me about them?" She still couldn't wrap her mind around it. She had another set of parents. She had only vague memories, nothing clear.

Her birth father came from Mexico, according to her adoptive father, when he was seventeen years old. He was taking night classes while working at the factory where he met Ted Marini. . .law enforcement classes at the local community college. He wanted to join the FBI one day. It was then that Danae knew what she would do with the rest of her life. She would fulfill her birth father's dreams and join the FBI.

Whenever her confidence began to flag, she remembered how she felt that night, when her ever-so-well meaning aunt Gayle opened her mouth. She remembered how it felt, knowing that the people who raised her never really knew if what they were doing was against the law. But they did it anyhow. She remembered the priest telling her, when she asked him about it years later, that she was spared for a purpose. And she remembered the firmness in his voice, the absolute faith he had. Faith she never really understood.

Yes, her desire to be an FBI agent started that night. . .but in order to succeed, you can't do something for another person. It had to be for yourself, or it didn't work. That was what happened to Danae. It started as a way to honor those who gave her life. . .but by the time she received her first assignment, to Charlotte, North Carolina, it was for her. Guadalupe Olivera was a part of her, and always would be. But it was Danae Marini who became an FBI agent, when all was said and done.

And just like her parents before, the people who raised her. . .Danae was putting it all on the line. And again, it was for the sake of a child. Not just any child, but her niece in all the ways that mattered. Annie was worth it. She became an FBI agent to honor one set of parents. She was putting it all on the line, honoring the other set. There was a symmetry to that she liked. Full circle, as Jocelyn would put it.

She went back to Cleveland once or twice a year, to see her family. She went to Mexico once, to see where her father was born. Hadn't been back since. . .didn't see the point. She learned what she needed to know. That was her past. Her future? Well, for the last eight years, her life consisted of her work and the Ramsey girls. She just didn't have the energy for a relationship. And most guys didn't really understand the demands that came with her career.

They didn't understand about the twenty-hour days. . .they didn't understand the tight-knit group that was the law enforcement community. Sure, there was tension between the locals and the feds. But you messed with one, you messed with them all. And none of her boyfriends ever understood that. Jocelyn came to understand it, over time, the more time she spent with the Charlotte field office.

Was she lonely? She was too tired usually to be lonely. It was so ironic. One of the wives of the agents made the observation the previous year, during Ian Howe's trial, that one would expect someone like him to be intrigued by Danae. Instead, Jocelyn. . .cute, girl-next-door Jocelyn. . .was the one who won his heart and who was the mother of his child. Cute, but not exotic. Cute, but not particularly special.

Danae almost bitch-slapped the woman for insulting her friend, until she realized no insult was intended. Most men. . .that was exactly how they saw Jocelyn. She was cute, but nothing special. Except for someone who bothered to look past the surface. Someone like Ian Howe. Maybe that was a place to start. All this time, she looked at him, first as a criminal, then as the man who hurt her friend. Maybe it was time to look at this from another perspective.

Danae was drifting into sleep, comforted by this new plan, when Jocelyn began to shift uneasily in the bed. She whimpered softly, making noises that sounded suspiciously like, 'no.' The agent jolted awake and turned on her side, gently pulling Jocelyn's dark hair back from her face. Her friend's face was tight with tension and fear. Danae was on the point of waking the other young woman, when Jocelyn's eyes flew open.

She was breathing heavily, tremors racing through her body. Danae whispered, "Josie? What is it, cara?" Jocelyn turned her head, to look at Danae, and the agent shivered a little at her expression. Danae gently touched her friend's face, repeating, "Jocelyn? What's wrong? Is it Annie?" It happened before. Jocelyn seemed to know when her daughter was hurt, or needed her. There were times when that seriously freaked out Danae.

However, this time, Jocelyn shook her head, rasping out, "No. No, it's Ian. It's Ian, he's in trouble." Danae frowned. Ooookay. This was new. Not even when Jocelyn and Annie went to Myrtle Beach three years earlier to meet with Ian did Jocelyn have freaky dreams about him.

And she seemed so damn sure that something was wrong. Danae asked slowly, "Do you think. . . could it be because you were talking about the attack? I mean, the one that took place before Annie was born?" Jocelyn rubbed her hand over her eyes as she shrugged. It was possible, she said without words, but the possibility didn't bring her comfort. Danae hugged her lightly. She said nothing. . .there was nothing she _could_ say.

* * *

Early the next morning, Ian Howe was not in his cell. He was, in fact, in the infirmary. It was nothing life-threatening. . .he had his cellmate to thank for that. Who would have ever imagined that he would owe his life to a six-foot-ten bouncer? Ian was not short, by any stretch of the imagination, but Tanner (Tiny) Masters made him look like a dwarf in comparison. He was also one of the first in the fray when a child molester slipped through the cracks. 

Tiny, it seemed, didn't think highly of anyone who would hurt a child. Nor did he think highly of five men who would attack a lone man in the showers. It was damn hard to fight back on a slippery floor. Especially when you were out-numbered that badly. That wasn't even taking into account the humiliation of being attacked while totally naked. Tiny, for reasons known only to himself, appointed himself as Ian's protector. He grew concerned when Ian (Ice) didn't show up for breakfast. He grew even more concerned when he realized that Winters and four of his cronies were missing.

The rest, as they said, was history. Right now, Ian felt like he would _be_ history. His entire torso ached, it was hard for him to take a deep breath. Actually, come to think of it, there wasn't a part of his body that didn't hurt. . .including his head. It didn't help that Tiny remained behind his bed like a guardian. Since he followed the rules, and alerted the guards to what he noticed, he was permitted to stay with Ian.

The shorter prisoner asked, wincing at the raspy note in his own voice, "Why are you here? I mean, I'm grateful. . .but you. . ." Ian groaned as he began coughing. Once the spasm passed, he was too exhausted from the effort to attempt to speak for several moments. A strong hand gripped his shoulder, and Ian tried to breathe through the pain. The hand was a distraction from the pain, a different focus.

Once his head began to clear, Tiny replied, "Just think of me as your personal bodyguard. We have a few mutual friends, who really want to make sure you remain in one piece." Whatever that meant. Ian was too tired to think it through, and in too much pain to come to any sort of logical conclusion. There was a brief silence, then Tiny asked quietly, "Do you want me to send the kid away, if he comes back?"

The kid? Paul? Ian opened his eyes, and Tiny explained, "He was worried about you as well. I think he's kind of adopted you." Ian smiled wearily. Yes, he noticed the same thing. There was a part of him that worried about Paul's adoption of him. But when all was said and done, could he really blame the boy? His own father molested his baby sister. The person who was supposed to love and protect them, violated both children in unimaginable ways.

"Just as long as he doesn't get the insane notion that I'm some hero," Ian answered, "the boy deserves better heroes than me." He didn't have any illusions. Ian knew what he was. He didn't try to duck it, didn't pretend to be something that he wasn't. (_You were a hero to Jocelyn_, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. _Yes, and look at how badly I fouled that up_, came the voice of his conscience.)

"You would have protected him and his sister. . .the kid figures that makes you a hero," Tiny pointed out in his rough voice. Ian knew that the other inmates considered Tiny to be big, but stupid. He wondered if any of the others ever heard Tiny talk like this. Doubtful. The other man continued after a moment, "I can think of worse people to look up to, you know. How long did you walk the straight and narrow?"

"Ten years," Ian said softly, "I played by the rules for ten years. And when I finally decided to break the rules, it wasn't for anything worthwhile. Not for the woman I loved or for our child." Tiny was silent, then Ian asked, "Have you ever been in love, Masters? Ever held a woman, and felt your child move under your hand? I did. I gave it up to protect them. Only it didn't work, because now, my little girl is missing."

"I heard. I'm sorry. It's kinda hard to find a woman at my size. What's it like? Knowing that you're gonna be a father?" the other man asked. Ian closed his eyes, remembering. His mind went back nine years. He was in a rare mood that day. . .everything was going wrong. It was a Murphy day. Ian figured, by the time everything was said and done, that he had one of two choices. He could go to a pub and drink himself into oblivion, or he could go to the local gym, and take out his frustrations on a punching bag.

He chose the second option. Ian didn't like the idea of losing control. And so, he went to the gym, and battered the punching bag until he was exhausted and most of his rage was gone. Jocelyn was out when he returned to their flat. . .they were living together by that time. Irrationally, it upset him. . . he knew she had classes, and he knew she had a doctor's appointment today. He made it for her earlier in the week, after she fainted during class.

But he felt empty inside, and he was lonely. He went into the shower, allowing the water to rinse away the grime and the sweat. When he emerged, damp but a little more relaxed, he found Jocelyn sitting on their davenport, almost ashen. Ian's heart dropped clear to his toes, and he approached her slowly. She was staring at a spot on the floor. Something was wrong. She didn't even look up as he knelt in front of her.

"Jos? What is it, darling?" he asked softly, taking her cold hands in his own, rubbing them to warm them up.

He was never overly-fond of the endearment 'darling,' as he considered it over-used. But right now, it seemed the most appropriate word. Jocelyn raised her head to look at him, and he flinched at the look in her eyes. Jocelyn looked terrified. In a low voice, she said, "I went to the doctor today." Ian nodded, reining in his fear. She was scared enough, he refused to scare her further. Jocelyn closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then said in a rush, "HesaidI'mpregnant."

It took two tries to figure out what she said. The first time, he had to space out the words. The second time. . .the second time was when it finally hit him, what she said. She was pregnant. Ian asked very carefully, "You're having a baby?" She nodded. He had no idea why he said the next words that came out of his mouth, but in truth, the news was the last thing he expected, and it knocked the gears of his brain loose. He asked, "You're having my baby?"

Now the fear was replaced by anger as she retorted, "I certainly haven't been sleeping around, Ian. . .of _course _it's your baby!" Ian did a second dumb thing then. He laughed. Of course she hadn't been sleeping around. Jocelyn glared at him, obviously put out with his reaction, and Ian tried to soothe her. However, Jocelyn's nerves were getting the better of her, because she started chattering in a way that he found both charming and aggravating.

Ian used a time-honored method to silence her. . .he kissed her. When he pulled away, he said softly, "We're having a baby." Now she began to grin, and nodded. Ian repeated, rising to his feet, "We're having a baby." He pulled her with him, suddenly giddy with relief. Jocelyn wasn't dying, she wasn't sick. She was pregnant. He could live with that. Ian kissed her hard, then spun her around, making her laugh.

Still holding her, he sat down on the davenport once more, drawing her into his lap. He said, laughing with relief, "You frightened me, Jocelyn. . .I was scared out of my mind that I would lose you." He kissed the top of her head, her forehead, the corner of her mouth, then asked, "When? How long?" He actually meant, of course, when was the baby due, and how far along was she? It meant the same thing, but those gears in Ian's brain were still. . .loose.

"The doctor says I'm about five weeks pregnant, give or take. I was. . .I wasn't sure if you would be happy or not. We never really talked about kids, I mean," Jocelyn said shyly. Ian kissed her again. The numbness gave way to relief, and now the relief was giving way to joy. A baby. He had thought, only that morning as he gazed at his sleeping love, that it wasn't possible for him to love her any more than he already did.

That was his first mistake. Ian repeated, brushing her hair to one side to kiss the side of her neck, "I was afraid I would lose you. That's the one thing I can't handle. A baby, no question. But losing you?" She turned in his arms, tilting his head to look at him dead on. Her small hands, still cold, palmed his cheeks. Her eyes were serious as she stared at him, in a way she always did when she wanted him to listen to her.

"Not gonna happen. I will never leave you," she said, "you're stuck with me." Ian had just pulled her against him even more tightly. It wasn't until much later that the fear hit him once more, only fear of another kind.

A gentle pressure on his shoulder returned Ian to the present day. . .a gentle pressure on his shoulder, and his ribs protesting as he moved. He realized that he still hadn't answered Tiny's question, and replied, "I was terrified at first. . .terrified that Jocelyn was dying. Then I was stunned. Then I was relieved. Then I was overjoyed. . .and then I was scared again. I had no idea what kind of father I would be."

He allowed his head to drop back against his pillows, adding with a sigh, "I guess we have the answer to that now, don't we?" Annie. Or, as his little brother often called her, Annie Laurie. Her real name was Anne-Marie, but that was only on her birth certificate. Jocelyn insisted on spelling it with an 'e,' just like Anne of Green Gables. And just like Anne of Green Gables, his baby girl had red hair.

Tiny made no answer, but then, how could he? Ian was a lousy father. He was a lousy father, because he was behind bars, just when his daughter needed him most. And why was he behind bars? Because he stupidly decided that a damn treasure was more important than anything else. Because when Ben Gates came to him with an outlandish proposal, Ian felt something. He just came back from South Carolina, and felt the empty space inside left by leaving Jocelyn and Annie. And he was tired of being empty.

"Agent Danae Marini, here to see Prisoner 041759," a woman's voice said, interrupting Ian's thoughts. He turned his head toward the door, to see an exotic, beautiful woman there. This was Danae Marini. . .Jocelyn's best friend. Well, maybe the infirmary was the best place for him. No doubt, after Agent Marini was finished with him, he would need all the medical care possible!

* * *

While Ian Howe and Danae Marini faced each other, Jocelyn Ramsey was starting her own day. She awoke alone, with the vaguest hint of a nightmare involving Ian the previous night before. In the light of day, she was inclined to dismiss it. It was one thing for her to sense when her daughter was in trouble. She was Annie's mother, that was the way it was supposed to work. At least, that was what her own mother always told her. 

But Ian? That was another matter entirely. Her grandmother wasn't just the brilliant one in the family. . .she was also the one who got these premonitions. Of course, by the time Jocelyn's parents were killed, Gramma was dead. . .but it was Gramma who warned Jocelyn's parents, more than twenty years earlier, not to go to the local county fair. Jocelyn's mother, Priscilla, ignored her mother's warning.

Jocelyn was eleven years old, on her summer vacation. It was the end of her summer vacation, actually. . .she was due to go back to school after Labor Day. At eleven, she was considered old enough to ride most of the rides by herself. The company providing the rides that year was a new one. In truth, she couldn't remember the accident that nearly killed her. She didn't even remember _being_ on a ride.

Regardless of what she remembered, Jocelyn and five other people were badly injured when something went wrong with the ride. Rumor had it that a few died as well. Jocelyn was unconscious for the better part of three days. . .but the damage done to her legs took far longer to heal. It was, in fact, considered a miracle that the accident didn't leave her paralyzed. She spent the entire school year recuperating. To keep from going insane, Jocelyn began reading whatever she could get her hands on.

It was this time in her life that got her interested in history. Where other girls her own age were dreaming about actors and musicians and athletes, Jocelyn's heroes were historical figures. Priscilla Ramsey, wanting to make sure that her daughter's education wasn't neglected while her body healed, saw to it that she read about biology and mathematics during this time as well. Eventually, Jocelyn ran out of history books, and then the languages started.

To this day, she could only speak Spanish and Italian, in addition to English. But while studying those languages, she became fascinated with the history of those countries as well. When she wasn't in physical therapy, she was studying or reading or listening to language tapes. Slowly, she rebuilt her strength. When she was twelve years old, she returned to school, but it quickly became apparent that she belonged in eighth grade, rather than seventh.

Jocelyn maintained that she wasn't brilliant, she wasn't a brain. . .she just used those months recuperating to keep up with her studies. She just didn't realize at the time that she was surpassing the rest of her classmates. Her classmates in eighth grade didn't accept her. In fact, they actually hated her. And her other classmates, the ones who had been her friends before the accident. . .they resented her. But Jocelyn, as ever. . .well, she told herself that she didn't care what they thought, and worked that much harder.

Perhaps she worked a little too hard. In the summer before her freshman year of high school, about a year after returning to school and two years after the accident, Jocelyn developed an infection. It started out as a cough, then developed into a cold, and then. . .she wasn't entirely sure what happened next. It was a blur, really. Things spun out of control, and the next thing Jocelyn knew, she was back in the hospital while the doctors and her body fought the infection. She spent two weeks in a daze, while the antibiotics were administered.

The fight to beat the infection took a lot of her strength. . .which was how she found herself once more recovering at home, not yet strong enough to return to school, even after the doctors pronounced her fit to leave the hospital. Betwixt and between, just like always. Falling back on what she knew best, Jocelyn once more began studying at home. . .and once more, she surpassed the rest of her class. When she returned to school in the fall, the administrators already knew about what happened the last time.

This time around, they tested her. . .and found her at the high school junior level. Jocelyn was now two years ahead of the others her own age. However, this time, she had a goal in sight. She was still ridiculed, still the outcast. . .but this time, she was also two years from finishing high school. _Eyes on the prize_, her grandmother told her, _keep your eyes on the prize, baby doll, and everything else will work out._

Jocelyn was able to shut out her contemptuous schoolmates, and concentrated on getting into a good college. She would be sixteen when she graduated, and she knew her path. The university of her choice was still up in the air, but she knew she would study history. That was a part of her destiny. Jocelyn felt sure of that, with all the resolve in her fourteen year old soul.

She graduated in the spring of 1988, tenth out of a class of two thousand. As she kept telling people, she wasn't brilliant, she wasn't a brain. . .but she worked damn hard for her grades. Jocelyn chose not to wait, but instead, went straight into college. . .and found a whole new world opening up for her. It was the next four years that gave her the self-confidence to open her heart to Ian Howe when she met him in the fall of 1992.

Jocelyn immersed herself in her studies, cautiously making friends with her roommate when it became clear that the older girl wouldn't make fun of her. Through her friendship with Meg, other friendships were forged. . .and slowly, she began to relax. She remembered how to have fun outside class. She was happy. . .her parents were ferociously proud of her, and she loved college. There were bumps. . .her grandmother's death when she was seventeen, for instance. . .but by and large, she was happy.

Things were going well for her. Too well. In January of 1992, about three weeks after her return tocampus for her final semester of college, Jocelyn's parents were killed. . .and the young girl was plunged into hell. One day, she was a college student whose greatest worry was what score she would receive on her next essay and which graduate school she would attend. . .and the next day, she was an orphan caught in the middle of a media firestorm.

It was, in fact, the callous disregard of reporters for a young girl's grief that led her to attend grad school in England. The reporters for the national news were the worst, and the most stupid. . .'how did she feel,' indeed? How the bloody hell did they think she felt? She wanted to escape. . .wanted to get away, and she wanted to fulfill a dream her father had of visiting the section of England where his own family emigrated from, centuries earlier.

And that, of course, led her to Ian. Jocelyn stopped what she was doing, absently wiping at the shampoo that almost dripped into her eyes. A few minutes earlier, she dismissed her unease about Ian's safety. . .but what if she was wrong? Pauline told her often that she was more like her grandmother than like her mother Priscilla. . .what if she was wrong? What if it was possible, what if she. . .?

Pauline often said that sometimes, love created a connection between two people, and that connection was hard to break. Her own husband. . .Pauline married him for convenience, not for love, but she firmly believed in that connection, believed firmly in that bond.

_There's nothing you can do for Ian_, she counseled herself, _think about other things. Like, what you'll do if it really does become necessary to ask Ben Gates for his help. That may prove interesting_. She would have to do that personally. . .and even then, it was anyone's guess if he would agree. Jocelyn knew Ian well enough to realize that any reluctance to ask his former cohort came from knowing Gates had no reason to help him. _Which means_, she decided, _that I have to come up with a good reason why he should help us. That will be **real** interesting_!

* * *

He wasn't at all like she imagined him to be. For one thing, when she arrived at the prison, she was informed that Ian Howe was in the infirmary. Several of the other inmates caught him in the showers before breakfast and beat the crap out of him. When she asked why, her answer was a shrug. However, she was cleared to go to the infirmary. Danae was escorted there, ignoring the whistles and catcalls. God knew she had plenty of practice there. 

Danae saw pictures of him, of course. . .but there were times when the much over-used phrase 'a picture is worth a thousand words' really didn't mean anything. This was one time. The pictures didn't come close to capturing his good looks. . .or his vulnerability. They stared at each other, then Ian said in a raspy voice, "Well. At least I'm already in the prison infirmary, Agent Marini. . .you may do your worst."

"I think someone has beaten me to the punch. . .literally," Danae answered as she viewed the damage done. Ian's face was bruised, his lip cut, and the way he lay told her that there was even more damage to his torso. He tried to smile, but it ended up as a grimace instead. Danae continued after a moment, "I hope the other guys look just as bad. Who did you piss off, and how did you do it?"

"Oh please, Agent Marini," came the exhausted reply, "as a law enforcement official, you of all people should know that there are some who don't need a reason to harm others. For some, I exist, and that is enough reason. Such is the case with my early morning assailants. I exist. I take up space." Danae did indeed know that. There were too many people who caused pain to others simply because they could.

She studied his face once more, no longer looking at him as the man who hurt her best friend, but as a possible source of aid. He looked tired. There were dark circles under his eyes, as if he didn't get nearly enough sleep the night before. Jocelyn looked like that often. Not quite haggard, but also not well-rested. His blond hair was a little longer than she really found attractive, but he managed to pull it off.

Jocelyn always said that Ian had green eyes, but right now, Danae thought they looked more blue than green. On the other hand, it wasn't the bright blue of Cam's eyes. Playing a hunch, she asked softly, almost sympathetically, "Spend a lot of time awake last night, thinking about Annie and Cam?" He nodded, pain flashing through his eyes. . .though she wasn't sure if it was from whatever injuries he suffered to his head, or his worry for Cam and Annie.

"And Jos. . .kept thinking about Jos. Is she all right, Agent Marini?" he asked, sounding almost pathetic with his need to be reassured. Jos. He called her 'Jos.' A nickname. You only gave nicknames to the people you cared about. He called her 'Jos' and Danae called her 'Josie.'Two different people, two nicknames. . .two very different sources of love. She nodded, though she was sure her sober expression told him that Josie wouldn't be all right until this nightmare was over. Ian sighed, cringing a little, "I worry about her."

"She was still asleep when I left this morning. I think she may have dreamed what happened to you. . .she woke up not long before I fell asleep, and said that you were in trouble. Has that ever happened, to your knowledge?" Danae asked the man. This time, he gingerly shook his head, and Danae nodded to the obscenely tall man who hovered protectively behind Ian's bedside.

"No. . .she told me about her grandmother, after we'd been together for about six months. Told me that her grandmother warned her parents not to take her to the fair, the one where she was hurt so badly. But nothing like that ever happened with Jocelyn. Always figured if it happened, it would happen with her cousin Pauline. . .she's the one who lives in the supernatural magnet," Ian replied.

Danae processed that. She supposed it wasn't that important. It just. . .spooked the hell out of her, she supposed. Instead, she turned her attention to the reason she was here, and explained, "The way we see it, there are two possibilities for Cam and Annie being taken. First, and most obviously, is an attempt to hurt you. Cam is your brother, Annie is your daughter. However, there's another explanation. I don't know what you know about your brother's research, but Cam has been investigating a way to deflect asteroids away from Earth."

Ian's eyes remained steady on hers, and Danae continued, "There is a possibility that Cam was abducted as a way to. . .convince him to turn his research to other pursuits. We don't think this is as likely, but it's still a possibility. If this hypothesis is correct, Annie would have been taken as. . . forgive the term. . .collateral. However, regardless of the why, we could still need your help."

"People I know. . .sources I have. Ask what you need to ask. Just get them back, and make sure no one hurts Jos," came the surprising reply. Danae blinked. What about the jockeying for power, finding out what they could offer him? Wouldn't they at least talk about that, give lip service to bargaining and negotiation? Ian Howe smiled without any real humor, adding, "Don't misunderstand me. I want out of here. I want my daughter and my brother safe, I want Jos unharmed. And I'd just as soon do that outside as inside, though I'm sure you'd take care of Jos. But I'm also not a fool."

"So, you're saying that you would give us all the information we need, at every turn, without demanding something in return? Do you not understand the purpose of a bargaining chip?" Danae asked. Howe looked away from her, and for a moment, she thought perhaps that she pushed him too far. She realized. . .as did her boss. . .that Ian wanted his family safe. And of course he wanted out of here. . .but she needed to know a few things about him.

After several moments, he answered, "I told you, Agent Marini. . .I'm not a fool. I have no bargaining power here. My family is at risk, and I wouldn't be much of a father, or much of a brother, for that matter, if I used them to get myself out of here. It's already been established that I'm a lousy father. But I hope I'm not such a bad father that I would use my little girl as a get-out-of-jail card."

Well. That answered several questions! Ian Howe, as Jocelyn told her the night before, was a very smart man. Danae hesitated, then asked, "What about Ben Gates? If you were released from prison, would you go after him or his family?" Ian looked at her sharply, eyes narrowing, but Danae said nothing further. He didn't need to know about Ben and Abigail Gates' young daughter, Betsy.

"I have no interest in revenge. I was stupid, I got caught. End of story. Jos asked me yesterday if I would be willing to ask his help. I'd do anything for my daughter. And for my brother. Yes, I'd ask his help. . .I just can't think of any reason why he would agree to help. And I can't imagine why we would need his help, unless Cam and Annie's kidnappers intend to send us all on yet _another _treasure hunt!" Ian retorted.

Danae thought about that, remembering her conversation with both her boss and what she read of the trial. After a moment, she replied, "It seems to me, Mr Howe, that Mr Gates has a gift for thinking outside the box. Something you've noticed yourself, I'm sure. As to why he would help us. . .no matter how he feels about you, personally, I'm sure he would never intentionally place the life of an innocent child at risk."

Ian had no answer to that. After a moment, he asked softly, "What do you think, Agent Marini? Why do you think they took my brother and my little girl?" He watched her expression intently, a hint of pleading in his eyes. With a shock, Danae realized it never even occurred to him that Cam and Annie might have been taken for another reason. Did that make him arrogant or simply aware of the consequences of his past? Maybe it was a combination of both. Her boss, Special Agent Carter, always said that most people weren't just one thing. . .they were a combination of many ideas and many motives.

With that in mind, Danae replied, "I think, Mr Howe, that someone wants to hurt your family. And I don't think they care how they do it. Whether they were taken to get back at you, or to subvert Cam's work is beside the point right now. You have an opportunity to make things easier for us to get them both back. You have the network, you have the contacts, and you can think like the kidnappers do. What we need from you is assurance. We need to know that we can rely on you, not to seek revenge on Benjamin Gates or his family. And we need to know that you'll listen when we ask things of you."

He was silent, green eyes never leaving her face. He wasn't protesting, so Danae felt confident in continuing, "In addition, there will be times when we will need you to trust us. Ask no questions, just trust us. I love Annie, too. She and Jocelyn are part of my family. I have to be very careful as a result, because if there's even a hint of. . .inappropriate behavior on my part, I'll be pulled from the case. So I may need to leave you out of the loop, briefly. . .if that happens, I need someone there to take care of Jocelyn."

She was expecting him to nod. She wasn't expecting him to answer hoarsely, "I would die for her." Oooookay. His serious expression told her that he meant it, too. Damn the man, he wasn't doing any of the things she expected. Ian Howe wasn't supposed to be frightened and desperate, he wasn't supposed to be accommodating and willing to die for Jocelyn. If she wasn't careful, she might end up actually liking the man, and then they _would_ be in trouble.

The idea was to turn the conversation to his network and his contacts. Instead, Danae the best friend briefly overtook Danae the agent and asked, "You're still in love with her, aren't you?" He didn't answer that. . .just smiled very sadly. _Oh bloody hell,_ she thought with an exasperated sigh, _why did he have to still be in love with her? This just got a helluva lot more complicated! Especially since I don't know what the hell is going on with Cam and Josie!

* * *

_

Anne-Marie Ramsey didn't find it strange at all that her father lived in England and her uncle lived in North Carolina, with her and her mother. Actually, right now, her father was in prison. Annie wasn't sure how she actually felt about that, though she was certain she should be angry with her father. There was always sadness in her mother's eyes when Uncle Cam mentioned Annie's father.

She knew that her father did something very wrong, and that was why he was in jail. When Uncle Cam told her about that, Annie asked him if that meant she couldn't love him any more. She immediately wished she hadn't asked that, because now she saw that same sadness in her uncle's eyes that she saw in her mother's eyes. But Uncle Cam pulled her into his lap, and quietly told her that her father needed her to love him now, more than ever.

"Your da is a good man, Annie Laurie. He just forgets that sometimes. Like he did this last time. The man who loves you, your mother, and me. . .he's a good man. Your mother and I, we get angry with him sometimes. . .but we still love him," Uncle Cam told her. He pressed a kiss to her hair, adding, "See, your parents are confused. That's why your father did something stupid. There are times when you feel empty, and you want to fill that emptiness. But you do it the wrong way."

"Just like Olivia did, when her parents were fighting and forgot about her. . .she got into trouble at school, so they would remember her?" Annie asked. She heard two of her teachers talking about her classmate. Concerned because they seemed more sad for her than angry, Annie asked her mother what they meant. Mommy sighed and pulled her into her lap, just as Uncle Cam often did, and explained that sometimes, parents forgot that they had children who needed them. . .and those children did bad things to remind them. That was what Olivia did.

"That's a good example. But, your father wasn't trying to get your mother's attention. He was trying to make himself feel better. . .and that's how he got confused. Your mum, she's confused because she still loves your father and she doesn't know she does," Uncle Cam replied. Annie frowned, because that was the silliest thing she ever heard, and she said so. Uncle Cam grinned and replied, "Yes, it is rather silly. But your da did some things that hurt your mum, and she's still trying to forgive him. He was trying to protect you and your mum, but things didn't quite work out the way he wanted them to."

Annie gave up at that point, because grown-ups made absolutely no sense to her. Even Mommy and Uncle Cam, who made more sense than most grown-ups, confused her at times. However, at least they weren't like the bad men who had Annie and Uncle Cam right now. They hurt Uncle Cam, because he was trying to protect her. That made her angry. . .though she was pretty sure that her mother and father would be even angrier.

She missed her mother, she missed her father, she missed Aunt Danae, she missed Josephine. Josephine was the name of the rag doll that Daddy gave her when she and Mommy met him and Uncle Cam, back when Annie was five. It was Annie who named her 'Josephine,' because she had dark hair like Mommy. And 'Josephine' sounded a lot like 'Jocelyn.' Annie liked her mother's name. . .she thought 'Jocelyn' was the prettiest name in the world, a lot prettier than 'Anne-Marie.'

She didn't mention that, however. Especially not after her mother told her that she was named 'Annie' because it was the closest she could get to 'Ian,' which was her daddy's name. Annie didn't understand, then Mommy told her that originally, her name was 'Ani,' which was an anagram of her daddy's name. (Of course, her mother then had to explain what 'anagram' meant, but that was another story for another time) But she didn't like the way it looked, so 'Ani' became 'Annie.'

And since her mother was raised to think that 'Annie' was short for something else, 'Annie' became 'Anne-Marie.' Which thoroughly confused Annie, but it was enough for her to know that she was actually named after her daddy. She was named after her daddy, and she named her doll after her mommy. And right now, she missed them both. Those bad men hurt Uncle Cam, they scared her, and she wanted her parents.

Last night, Uncle Cam told her that her parents would come for them. . .that her father especially wouldn't allow anyone to stand between him and getting her back safely. She didn't question that, even though her father barely knew her. He was her daddy, and that was what daddies did. They protected their little girls. Just like mommies did.

She had to have faith, but when all was said and done, Anne-Marie Ramsey was only eight years old, and in a situation she didn't fully understand. She couldn't do anything to help Uncle Cam. She could only wait for her parents, and she didn't like that. She didn't like that one bit. The little girl rested her head against her uncle's shoulder, the one that wasn't hurt when he protected her from the bad men, and closed her eyes. Maybe, if she had a dream about her mother and father, she would bring them here. It didn't hurt to hope, did it?


	5. Gifts and Curses

Okay, gang. . .one last update before I leave for Hawaii tomorrow morning! I'll be gone ten days, and while I'll be taking my laptop. . .well, I'm not sure how much time I'll have to write.

Reviews:

Kat: Nope, Shaw is a good guy. . .somewhat. . .in my stories. I like the whole idea of a big menacing guy being a teddy-bear in an aspect of his life. Danae rocks, doesn't she? She's so funny, too. . .keeps Jocelyn in balance, when she's not watching her back. (laughs) Poor Danae. . .she's starting to realize why Ian and Jocelyn never really lost their connection. After all, as you say, how could she NOT like Ian? And Annie was a lot of fun to write. I like writing kids. . .they're a lot smarter than people give them credit for. And Annie, growing up with just her mom. . .she's learned how to read her mother.

Terreis: Too good-looking to stay mad at for long, indeed. (sigh) Ian. Yum. Although, I wouldn't call him 'little,' not at just a hair under six feet. Especially since I'm a squirt at five three. (rolls eyes) Nope, Ian isn't hurt too badly. . .he's in pain and has some discomfort, otherwise, but he'll live. Tiny just waved back, and Annie is blowing you kisses. Here's more!

Heart Bound in Chains

Chapter Four

Gifts and Curses

Danae Marini made more progress in that interview than she usually did in most of her interrogations. On the other hand, she was usually talking to someone who didn't _want_ to talk. Ian Howe was desperate to help. After he gave her the answers she sought, there was one last question that needed to be answered, and she wanted to hear what he would tell her, as opposed to what he told Jocelyn.

"So tell me. . .why did you do it?" Danae asked. She didn't specify what 'it' she meant. The agent realized, when she thought about it later, that she could have just as easily meant the 'it' which resulted in a family being torn apart. And she would ask about that later. Right now, though, she wanted to know about the 'it' which landed Ian Howe back into jail. The corners of his mouth turned up, though not too far. . .she guessed it was painful to smile.

"Do you know what it's like, Agent Marini, to feel empty?" he asked very softly. Danae blinked, as she wasn't expecting him to answer a question with a question. Maybe that was her first mistake in dealing with him. _Expect the unexpected with Ian_, Jocelyn told her on the phone, _because he never does exactly what you expect. And don't let him fool you. . .he's far more vulnerable than anyone could ever guess. The more of a front he puts up, the more vulnerable he's feeling_.

The agent didn't know about that. Ian Howe seemed pretty vulnerable to her right now. No defenses of any kind. When Danae didn't answer, the man continued, "I felt, for lack of a better phrase. . .I felt hollowed out. Until I saw her again, three years ago, I never realized just how much I missed her." She didn't ask which 'she' was meant. Ian continued, "Then I saw her, and-it hurt. Seeing her again. But I was feeling. I hadn't felt in so long. Not since I put her on that plane. Then she was gone once more, and. . .and all of the warmth went with her."

Danae glanced up at Tanner Masters, who remained beside Ian's bed protectively. The big man looked about as confused as she did. Ian closed his eyes, a soft sigh leaving him, and murmured, "Two weeks after that, I got a call. One of my. . .associates. . .just concluded an interview with a crazy American who thought he could find a treasure beyond all imagination. The treasure of the Templars."

"Ben Gates," Danae said and Ian nodded slightly, opening his eyes once more. Danae continued, now understanding his original question, "So, intrigued, you arranged for a meeting with him yourself. What got you, then? Curiosity?" Ian smiled ruefully, and Danae added with a short laugh, "You forget, I've been hearing about you in one form or another for the last eight years. In some ways, I do know you."

"Yes, and at least half of what you heard was bad. I deserve it, of course. But yes. I arranged for a meeting with Benjamin Franklin Gates. I'd been on the straight and narrow for almost ten years at this point. When I first met Jos, I was almost clean, but still pulled a job from time to time. Then I fell in love with her, and realized she could be caught in the crossfire. I never pulled a job after that. So, I agreed to back him after we talked," Ian explained.

"Why? What was it about the Templar Treasure. . .or about Ben Gates. . .that did it? Aside from your curiosity. . .why him?" Danae pressed. Ian sighed somewhat louder this time, and flinched. His arm tightened across his ribs protectively. The next words out of her mouth thoroughly surprised Danae, as she asked, "Do you want to rest? I can come back later." Okay, where the hell did that come from? However, Ian shook his head, though he lost some color during the last few minutes.

"No. I can finish this. I. . .he believed in what he was telling me. He was willing to put everything on the line, to finish what his family had started. By this time, I had more than a passing interest in archaeological digs, and this. . .I just. . .bloody hell, I can't even tell you what set me on the path! I can just tell you that when Ben Gates told me what he was doing, for the first time since I left Jocelyn again. . .I was feeling. And the emptiness was gone. You asked me earlier if I would go after Ben Gates. I told you 'no,' but not why. I make my own choices, Agent Marini. I made my choice, a very poor choice, eight years ago. . .and I made a series of bad choices once we found the Charlotte," Ian replied.

He paused, and Danae didn't say anything. They were both silent for a few moments, then Ian told her, "You have no reason in the world to believe me. To accept what I'm telling you. But I give you my word now, upon my daughter's life, upon my brother's life. . .I have no desire to harm Ben Gates or his family. When I lost Shaw, I didn't lose just my second in command, I lost one of my dearest friends. And all the treasure in the world can't bring him back. Besides. I can't really think of anything more sacred to me than Annie or Cam's life."

"Your love for Jocelyn?" Danae queried, then immediately wished she had kept her mouth shut. His face twisted with pain, and his head fell back against the pillows. She hurt him with those words, and while she didn't trust him, she also had no wish to rub his face in past mistakes. He already said that sending away Jocelyn was a mistake, a bad choice. Besides, as her mom always said, what's done is done.

"I could. . .but I don't think you'd believe me," Ian replied after a moment. Danae looked at him, and he continued, his eyes closed, "I don't think she would believe me, either. She's forgiven me, for being a stupid fool eight years ago and thinking I could protect them by sending them away. But I don't think she would believe me if I swore by my feelings for her. She mustn't know I still love her, Agent Marini."

Danae almost asked why not, then chose not to. Instead, she replied, "I won't tell her. But I think you're underestimating her again. She's a lot smarter and a lot stronger than you give her credit for, and I'm willing to bet that she figures it out on her own." Then something else occurred to her, and Danae asked slowly, "Or is that it? Are you afraid if I tell her, that she'll reject you?"

Ian's eyes opened at that, and Danae had her answer. _Dio mio_, she thought, adding a few other expletives in other languages, _not another complication. Things were a lot simpler when I thought this would just be about getting his cooperation_! However, she said only, "I'll say nothing to her. For now, I should report back to my boss. I can promise nothing. . .but rest, and we'll see what we can do. Because truly, if I can't watch Jocelyn's back, I'd rather have you around to do it for me."

Ian smiled then, a mischievous little boy smile, and replied, "Back. . .front. . .legs. Doesn't matter to me." Danae looked at him, trying to decide if she should smack him or laugh. After a moment, she burst out laughing. Oh yes. In spite of herself, she was already starting to understand why Jocelyn fell in love with him in the first place. It would be entirely too easy to fall in love with this charming man.

* * *

"So, you're saying that Ian Howe doesn't pose a threat to us?" 

"Ma'am, he cares about one thing and one thing only. . .getting his brother and daughter back safely. He gave up any and all bargaining chips. Could we leave him in jail and use him as a consultant? Of course. But I think it would be far easier on everyone involved if we put him under a house arrest of some kind. . .that way, we can keep an eye on him, and get what we need," came the response.

Special Agent in Charge Broceliande Carter rubbed at her forehead. Not for the first time, she wondered why they were doing this. No, not trying to get Cameron McDowell and Annie Ramsey back safely. . .but involving Agent Sadusky. The man made her crazy. He was grumbling under his breath, but Carter ignored him. She said, "Agent Marini, I need a full transcript of your interview with Mr Howe faxed to my office. Can you get that to me by noon?"

"Of course. I'm heading back to the hotel now, and they have a fax machine. I can also confirm what Jocelyn told me. . .Mr Howe has absolutely no interest in revenge against the Gates family. His exact remarks will be included in the transcripts I'm sending. Is there anything else you need? While I was at the prison, I also spoke with the warden, and he can fax Mr Howe's prison record, including the injuries he suffered today," Danae Marini answered.

"That won't be necessary, Agent Marini. . .if that information becomes necessary, I'll speak with the warden myself. Just get yourself back to the hotel in one piece, get that transcript to me and to Agent Sadusky, then take care of Jocelyn. We'll be in touch," Carter told her agent. She hung up, and told Sadusky over the phone, "Well, you've heard it. Your boy Gates isn't in any danger. That's more than I can say for Anne-Marie Ramsey and her uncle."

"We just have Ian Howe's word," Sadusky replied. Carter smirked, and Sadusky continued, "Now, don't be like that, LeeAnn. Someone had to go to jail for stealing the Declaration, and everything else that happened. Howe was the one ultimately responsible. . .Howe paid. He's too dangerous. . .have you looked at his record?"

"Do. . .not. . .patronize me, Ed," Carter growled, placing both hands on her desk, and leaning forward. It didn't do anything to intimidate Sadusky, since he wasn't even the room, but it made her feel better. And it gave the third man an indication of how she felt. When she could speak without attacking the man, Carter continued, "I have read his record. Did you know, Ed, that the man has never used lethal force? The guards were stunned in the Declaration heist. . .stunned, not killed."

"He threatened the lives of American citizens. . .destroyed property. . .stole the Declaration of Independence! And you want to get him out of jail? Are you insane?" Sadusky retorted. Carter smirked, straightening up. This was an argument that neither would ever win. . .and that was why she pulled someone else into the room. Before he made his decision, however, Carter had a few rebuttals to make.

"Fact. . .Ian Howe had plenty of chances to harm the Gates family and Riley Poole. All are alive and unhurt. Fact. . .Benjamin Franklin Gates also stole the Declaration, for the exact same reason as Howe. Because it contained clues to the Templar Treasure. Fact. . .Howe was willing to give up any and all bargaining chips, if we would just rescue his daughter. Are you getting my point? Because we could go on like this all day, Ed," she replied.

"Which is why I'm here. I can't give either of you an answer just yet. . .I want to read the transcript sent over by Agent Marini, and I also want a copy of the reports she mentioned. At the beginning of the conversation, Carter, before Agent Sadusky arrived for the conference call, you spoke to Agent Marini in private. What did she tell you. . . did it have something to do with the injuries she specified at the end of the conversation?" the third person asked.

"Yes. Early this morning, before breakfast, Ian Howe was caught alone in the showers by five other inmates and beaten. His cellmate, Tanner Masters, stopped the beating before his injuries could be life-threatening, and took him to the infirmary. He has a few broken ribs, some bruising, but overall, he's fine," Carter replied.

She looked at her companion, who was quietly studying her face. When nothing came from Sadusky, Carter said, "I mentioned earlier. . .I know that we could keep him in jail, and use him as a consultant. But really, how cost-effective is that? If we have a question in the middle of the night, we would have to go to the prison and. . .do I really need to explain further? At the beginning of my conversation with Agent Marini, she told me one other thing. Mr Howe is willing to ask Mr Gates for his aid. . .he doesn't see how Mr Gates could help, but he's willing to swallow his pride and humble himself by asking aid of the man whom he wronged."

"I rather received that impression. And I agree with you. But. Before I make the call to release this man from prison, and into the custody of Agent Marini, I need to see those transcripts, and I need one other thing. I want at least two agents guarding Mr Howe if he is released. I'm guessing that you're a step ahead of me, as usual," her companion said, and Carter bit back a grin.

"I have a few ideas, sir. And I didn't expect anything else," the woman replied. Mentally, she was already calculating how long it would take Marini to reach the hotel and get the information put together. It was ten am now. . .and Marini was nothing if not organized. Yes, she would have that fax by noon. Aloud, Carter said, "Maybe this seems like a great deal of trouble, to rescue one little girl and one scientist. . ."

"Considering the amount of trouble we put into rescuing scientists during the Second World War, and other times in the last fifty years. . .not really," her companion replied. He paused, then added quietly, "And I have a granddaughter, the same age as that little girl. Annie Ramsey-Howe shouldn't pay for the crimes her father has committed. . .in this country or any other. You do what you have to, to get that little girl and her uncle back. . .you do what you have to, to keep her mother safe, since that's also Agent Marini's concern."

"Then I want another agent assigned to this case. Marini can hardly be subjective, since it's her honorary niece who is in danger. No one could be objective in that case," argued Sadusky. In spite of herself, Carter felt herself bristle at this insult to her agent. Her companion shook his head, and the woman bit back her retort. Sadusky continued, "I'm more than a little worried about where Marini's loyalties lay."

"No more than yours, Agent Sadusky," came the mild reproof, "there are some who say that you protected Gates from prosecution because you belong to the same organization. Agent Marini is trying to rescue an innocent child and her equally innocent uncle. I doubt very much if Dr Ramsey would ask Agent Marini to betray their country. And even if Dr Ramsey does fall under Mr Howe's spell again, as you put it, she has Agent Marini to pull her back."

_And that_, Carter thought_, is what my daughter would call a slam dunk_! She said, in the interests of cooperation (of course), "Of course, I have no problem with Agent Sadusky adding personnel to this task force. My people are overworked as it is. . .we could use all the help we could. I assure you, Agent Sadusky, even we hicks in the South work twenty-hour-days." There was a barely-suppressed '_oooh_' from her secretary, who just entered the office.

There was a long silence from Sadusky, who finally sighed with more than a touch of exasperation, "I'm batting a thousand today. All right, you've made your point. . .both of them. You'll never let me live down that statement, and you're really not pleased with my comment that Dr Ramsey is still vulnerable to Howe's charisma." That wasn't exactly how he put it, but she would accept that interpretation for now.

"That makes two of us. Dr Ramsey is, though young, very much a valued member of the Department of Cultural Resources in North Carolina. I've read her file. Perhaps someone should question Dr Chase-Gates' loyalties, based on the same rationale? After all, they are both women, and Dr Chase-Gates is also a mother. No doubt, in Dr Ramsey's position, she would do the exact same thing to get her daughter back. . .whatever it took," Carter's superior officer said.

Double-ow. There was a real good reason why they called Carter's 'guest,' Andrew Mueller, 'the mule.' It wasn't because he was mule-stubborn. . .but because he could kick a person where it hurt most with his words. Mueller, while not the Attorney General himself, had the authority to make the final decision about Ian Howe and the level of his involvement in his daughter's rescue. Mueller was also the father of four daughters, one of whom was raising her daughter alone. He was not amused by Sadusky's remarks regarding Jocelyn Ramsey's vulnerability. Not amused at all.

There really was something in the old saying, about giving someone just enough rope to hang one's self. She just hoped that the same wasn't true of Danae Marini, Jocelyn Ramsey or Ian Howe. A lot was riding on this deal. . .more than anyone else could have guessed.

* * *

"You going psychic on me now, Josie?" 

Jocelyn was trying. . .somewhat unsuccessfully, admittedly. . .to distract herself from her worries by typing up a report. She started after showering and having breakfast. . .it was ten thirty now, and she was still struggling with the first paragraph. Of course, it didn't help that every time she hit certain words, she would stop. The memories were hovering just below the surface and it wouldn't take much for them to break free.

So, it was with some relief that she heard the opening of the door, heralding Danae's return from the prison. Her relief was short-lived when she heard her best friend's question. Startled, Jocelyn turned to face Danae, asking, "What do you mean, am I going psychic on you? What the hell kinda question is that?" In truth, though, she had an uneasy feeling she knew. It had been growing the last few hours, as she tried to distract herself from that dream.

"When I got to the prison this morning. . .Josie, Ian Howe's in the infirmary," Danae answered. What? Jocelyn was out of her chair almost immediately. She supposed she was lucky she didn't knock the laptop off the desk, but right now, she was more concerned with Ian than with a machine. . .necessary machine though it be. She fixed her best friend with her best Look, and Danae explained, "He was attacked in the showers. . .by five men. . .and beaten up."

Jocelyn choked back a curse, a sob, something. . .she couldn't be sure what. Danae went on, when she was certain that she wouldn't be interrupted, "He's all right. . .has a few broken ribs, and some bumps and bruises, but nothing life-threatening. When he didn't show up for breakfast. . .along with his five attackers. . .his cellmate got worried, and went looking for him. He caught the attackers, and intervened."

Danae continued to talk, but Jocelyn wasn't paying attention. Ian was hurt. And based on what Danae just told her, the details of the attack matched the details of her dream. She dreamed of Ian under attack in the rain. . .but wearing no clothes. It made no sense, and for that reason, she dismissed it. That, and. . .she never had warning dreams about Ian. Not even while they were together. Why now?

Then Danae was in front of her, holding her hands tightly, and whispering, "Listen, it'll be okay. . he's in the infirmary. But. . .Josie, listen to me. He's okay. In pain, but he'll live. Right now, we gotta work on getting him outta there. I need to borrow your laptop, and a diskette, if we want to get him out of there. I need to have the transcript put together and sent to my boss and to DC. Can I borrow your laptop?" Jocelyn nodded numbly. Ian was hurt. He was in the prison infirmary.

Still somewhat dazed, she saved what she was working on and moved from her chair. Danae gently maneuvered her until she was sitting on the bed. Jos picked up Josephine, Annie's doll, and held it close. Ian was in the infirmary, and she dreamed about the attack. Why now? Why not while she was with him? What changed between now and then? She tuned out Danae as her friend began typing up a record of her conversation with Ian.

_Think back. Remember. What did Gramma tell you about her premonitions_? One thing her grandmother, and Pauline, both told her was to never refer to it as a 'gift.' As Gramma put it, seeing bad things happen to the people you love most was no gift. They referred to it as the 'Sight,' as the premonitions. But never ever the 'Gift.' That, she remembered clearly, more clearly than anything else.

Did she have any of these dreams, these feelings when she was a child or a teenager? No. No, she was too distracted by trying to put her broken body back together, and keeping her sanity when she couldn't return to school. And she had no dreams when her parents were killed. When did she have her first dream? Jocelyn's eyes flew open. Eight weeks after Annie was born, while Jocelyn was still trying to decide on her name.

She didn't choose any of the names she and Ian discussed. None of them seemed right, looking down at her baby girl. Besides. . .it hurt too much, remembering Ian's betrayal. For those first two months, Jocelyn just called her baby daughter 'baby girl.'

It wasn't until she started seeing her former lover in their daughter that she came upon using an anagram for her name. But on this night, Jocelyn was getting her first decent night's sleep since her daughter's birth. Danae was staying the night, and watching over the baby. Something. . .happened. Jocelyn knew she didn't hear her daughter crying. But she woke up, dreaming that something was terribly wrong with the baby. When she burst into the nursery, Danae was panicking. The little one wasn't breathing properly.

The pair made a flying trip into Raleigh. The baby was stabilized, but as Jocelyn rode in the backseat with her little girl, watching her baby gasp for breath and try to cry. . .she discovered that her baby girl had dark green eyes. Somewhere between her own hazel eyes and Ian's green was the color of her daughter's. And she knew, then, what to name her baby. But the fear she felt that night remained, long after Annie was stabilized.

The same fear she experienced each time she had those feelings, since that night. The same fear she experienced when she dreamed of Ian in trouble. The dreams began with Annie's birth. Desperately, Jocelyn tried to remember if her grandmother mentioned that. But nothing came to mind, and she sank back against the pillows. It made sense, when she stopped and thought about it. Her mother once told her that she felt empowered when Jocelyn was born and placed in her arms.

But then there was Pauline. She didn't have any children, and yet, her dreams, her premonitions, were far more clear than Jocelyn's own. It made no sense to her. The bed sank, and Jocelyn looked up. Danae was staring at her, looking more than a touch worried. Once she saw that she had Jocelyn's (more or less) undivided attention, Danae said, "I have everything typed up. . .remind me never to harass you about packing everything including the kitchen sink again." Jocelyn managed a laugh at that, and Danae continued, "I'm taking this downstairs to fax. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Jocelyn nodded her agreement and her understanding, murmuring, "Don't forget to take your key with you." Danae just squeezed her wrist and rose to her feet. . .but, Jocelyn noticed, she did take her key with her. She shook her head, whispering, "What are you doing to me, Ian?" Of course, it wasn't his fault. This was about family. . .about bloodlines, and he had nothing to do with bloodlines.

But he had everything to do with family. With a sigh, Jocelyn pushed herself off the bed and went over to her laptop once more. She minimized Danae's report, and instead of getting back to work on her own, she chose instead to check her personal email. That was one of the first things she did when she arrived in Washington DC, and started unpacking. . .got her laptop set up and internet hooked up.

Jocelyn rolled her eyes at the usual crap that accumulated over the course of eight hours, and set to deleting the spam. Hello, what's this? It took her only a moment to recognize the email address. Jocelyn murmured under her breath, "Pauline?" One thing about her cousin. . .she was never random. Pauline, though she loved both Jocelyn and Annie, never contacted the pairwithout reason. . .usually a very specific reason.

That was the case again this time. And as usual, Pauline was cryptic. Her email read, "Baby girl. I know your baby has been taken, and I know what you're doing to get her back. But be careful. Nothing is as it seems. I love you. Cousin P." Jocelyn shook her head. She didn't even try to guess what that meant. However, after knowing Pauline for most of her life, one thing Jocelyn did know. . . she would find out. Sooner or later.

* * *

Against his wishes, Ian Howe drifted back to sleep after Danae Marini left the prison infirmary. She promised that she would get in touch with him, no matter what the decision of her superior officers would be. A decision she expected to receive by the end of the following day. Ian wouldn't hold his breath. He didn't have the breath or the energy. Instead, he focused on other things. Like, his impressions of the young FBI agent who was also Jocelyn's best friend. 

She was quite attractive. Ian was still in love with Jocelyn, but that didn't mean he was blind. Danae was extremely attractive, and just as protective of Jos. In fact, Ian would have been very surprised if Agent Marini wasn't as protective of Jos as Ian himself was. She loved Jos just as much as Ian did. . .she loved Annie, too. And she was putting everything on the line to protect them both.

Ian knew enough about law enforcement to realize that Danae Marini could well be taken from this investigation because she was too close. No objectivity. But still, she remained, and he had to respect her for that. If they pulled this off, the three of them, he promised himself that he wouldn't make her job any more difficult than it already was. No, he would do his own job. Namely, protecting Jocelyn.

He shifted in his bed, moaning a little as his ribs protested once more. Damn. When was the last time someone beat him up this badly? Good question. Years earlier, when that arse attacked Ian and Jocelyn as they were coming home from Jocelyn's doctor's appointment, Ian was the recipient of almost as many blows as he dished out. That was the last time he could remember being in such pain.

Slowly, he drifted into sleep, his body finally deciding that he had enough and it was time to rest. He dreamed. Jocelyn was sitting across the table from him in South Carolina, an indulgent smile playing on her lips as she listened to their daughter talk. Annie amazed him. . .just amazed him. She was smart as a whip. God, she was so smart! And funny. Like her mother, she came up with the most amazing things. Like most five year olds, her favorite words, favorite question, was 'why?'

And just like her mother, she had a habit of asking questions that Ian couldn't answer. Cam, of course, thought it was hysterically funny, and on more than one occasion, Ian found it necessary to kick his brother's ankle under the table. Jocelyn ate very little. . .just watched Ian and their daughter together, and Ian wondered if she was as nervous about this meeting as he was. He was almost sick that morning in the hotel. He tried to tell himself that he was being a dunce, and that she was just another former lover.

Hah, and hah again! Jocelyn Patricia Ramsey wasn't just anything, and he should know that by now! He was expecting the pang when he saw his daughter. . .but the jolt of desire that shot through Ian's body when he saw Annie's mother was another story. He had missed her. He had missed her so much. . .and it was only now, seeing her in that restaurant, that he realized just how much he missed her. His Jos. His no more.

Cam prodded him in the back, pushing him forward, and Ian stumbled a little. Tripping over his own feet wasn't an Ian thing to do, but. . .he did it. He turned to glare at his younger brother, only to receive a smirk. Ian glared a little longer, then began moving toward the table where Jocelyn and their daughter sat. Jocelyn slid out of the booth, motioning to the little girl. Ian didn't even make it all the way to the table when his legs started wobbling. He fell to his knees in front of his daughter, his baby.

She was utterly perfect. Red-haired and green eyed. . .Shaw turned out to be right. She did have Ian's coloring, because his own hair was strawberry blond when he was a child. As he grew up, it lightened to dark blond. Or, as his brother was so fond of saying. . .dirty blond. Jocelyn said softly, her hands resting on their angel's shoulders, "Annie, sweetheart. . .this is your daddy, Ian."

Those were the first words she spoke, and it didn't pass Ian's notice that she spoke to their daughter, rather than to him. She hadn't forgiven him, and with a sick feeling in his gut, Ian realized he couldn't blame her. Then her eyes slid to him, and she added, "Ian, this is Annie. Or, more properly, Anne-Marie." It didn't occur to him, until much later. . .and only because Cam mentioned it. . .that one spelling of 'Annie' was 'Ani.' An anagram of Ian. Jocelyn had named their daughter after him. In spite of everything, she named their daughter after him.

As they talked, Ian noticed that Jocelyn's hands never left their little girl. She was always demonstrative, always affectionate. With him. . .it was fortunate that his brother was asking Annie, because Ian found himself lost in the memory of how Jocelyn's hands felt on his skin, on his body. And damn it all to bloody hell. . .he found himself getting horny right there, in the middle of the restaurant, with their daughter at Jocelyn's side.

His body remembered, too, the jolts of desire that kept flowing through him as he stared at Jocelyn. Even now, three years later. . . Ian awoke with a jolt, groaning as pain reverberated through his torso. Gah. That hurt like hell. There was something else. He wasn't alone. As he blinked his eyes in an attempt to focus them, he realized there was someone else there, at his side. It took a few more blinks, then he realized that it was Paul Nichols. The youngster smiled at him, obviously relieved, and said, "They let me come see you, Ice. . .I wanted to make sure you would be all right."

"I'll live. I think," Ian replied, barely biting back a groan. A hand enveloped his own, and Ian looked down to find that Paul had taken his hand. It helped. . .a lot more than he would have thought. He forgot how good it felt, that gentle human contact. He couldn't remember the last time he felt a gentle touch. Ian breathed, "Thanks, kid. How are you doing? Keeping up with your reading?" Paul shrugged. He just received computer privileges the day before, and that took up most of his free time.

"When I can. I heard the other prisoners talking. . .that lady who came to see you? She used to be your girlfriend?" Paul asked. Well, that was one way of looking at it, Ian supposed. The boy continued, "She looks really nice. Kinda like someone's big sister. . .or their mother." Paul's expression told Ian that he knew about Annie. Ian's hand tightened around the boy's, and in answer, Paul put his free hand over Ian's.

"She is someone's mother. Our daughter, Annie. She's eight. But Jos. . .she's an only child. Her mum and dad died when she was twenty. Annie is all she has in the world in terms of blood. . .Annie and her cousin Pauline," Ian replied quietly. He paused, then looked at the boy with a half-smile, adding, "Why? Would you like her to be your older sister?" Paul thought about that for a moment, then nodded fiercely. Intrigued, Ian questioned, "Why?"

"Because. . .because I heard about what the other prisoners say. Word gets around fast in here, Ice. They say you hurt her real bad. But she came here anyhow, to tell you about your little girl. She'd do anything for her family. . .wouldn't she?" Paul questioned. Ian winced at the reference to hurting Jos. Oh yes. Word got around very rapidly in this place. Then again, he should have realized that from his first prison term.

"She would do anything for her family, yes. And you're right. I hurt her very badly. She finally understands why I did it. . .finally forgives me for what I did, but I did wrong by her," Ian replied heavily. A motion behind him had him craning his neck, but he gave that up when pain exploded behind his eyes. Oh damn, that hurt! Now Paul's hands tightened over his own, giving him a desperately needed focus. A gentle hand came down to rest on his shoulder.

"You were trying to protect her. A man has to do whatever he needs to do, to protect his family," Paul replied, and there was a strange note in his voice. The boy continued in that faraway tone, "You fight, you kill, you lie, you steal. . .just whatever it takes. Because no one else will do it for you." Ian finally managed to force his eyes open, at the bitterness he heard in the boy's voice. Bitterness someone his age should never feel. Pot, kettle, Ian thought a bit sourly, as if you have any room to talk?

"And what would you do, to protect your family?" Ian asked softly. Paul just smiled very, very coldly. It chilled Ian's blood. He thought back to himself when he was Paul's age. What was he like when he was nineteen? Really, he was no different than Paul, but that wasn't much of a consolation. In fact, it wasn't a consolation at all. He didn't want this boy to be back in jail twenty years later, because of a stupid notion that. . .because of a stupid notion. Ian said softly, "Let me give you a piece of advice, Paul. Don't shut yourself off from your family, to protect them. It doesn't work. You can best protect them if you're nearby. Not across the ocean. . .not in jail."

Now Paul's eyes returned to normal. He squeezed Ian's hand, replying, "I know that. I've learned a lot from you, Ice. And I really hope this works out for you. I hope they do let you out, to help find your little girl. I knew I was right about you. You would have never hurt Kaylee the way our old man did. I don't think you're such a bad father at all." Ian smiled, which was more of a pained grimace. That remained to be seen.

* * *

"Ben, you need to sit down." 

Actually, Benjamin Franklin Gates was sitting down. More to the point, he was holding Betsy while he fed her, with the phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder. He didn't have time to explain that, because his old friend, Special Agent in Charge Edward Sadusky was telling him, "I wanted to give you a heads-up. There's talk of releasing Ian Howe from prison, since his daughter is missing."

Ben's blood ran cold, and it was only the comforting weight of his daughter in his arms that kept him somewhat calm as he retorted, "What?" He thought, a bit uneasily, about his conversation with Abigail the night before. . .and thought about what he would do if Betsy was taken from them. Then he shook his head. No, dammit, he wouldn't start doing this. He was not the guilty party here!

"Yeah. His ex-girlfriend. . .her best friend is an FBI agent with the Charlotte Field Office, and she's talking the Special Agent in Charge, Broceliande Carter, into releasing Howe into her custody. Carter and Marini think that Howe's brother and daughter were taken to get at him. . .so he would be a valuable source of information. He's managed to convince Marini that he doesn't want to go after you, but I want you to be on your guard," Sadusky replied.

Well, yes, that went without saying! However, unbidden, an image flashed into Ben's mind. Upon his request, Sadusky took him with the agents to bust Ian. As part of the bargain, he stayed out of sight, waiting until Ian was in custody before he revealed himself. Ian, as Ben stated in the past, was smart. . .he didn't even try to put up a fight. As he folded his hands behind his head, Ben stepped out of the shadows. There was enough light for him to see Ian's expression. . .a mixture of exasperation, resignation, and amusement.

Ian was no threat to him. He didn't know why he felt that way, but he was sure of it. Ian would do nothing to harm his family, not with his own little girl in danger. Even so, he said none of this to Sadusky, promising instead, "I'll keep an eye out. Thanks for letting me know." However, his friend wasn't quite finished with him. Of course not. Things were never that easy.

"You need to know something else, Ben. Marini says that Howe may approach you for your help. I don't think he'll do it himself. . .if anything, he'll send his ex-girlfriend. I don't think she's a bad woman. . .just a desperate mother. And I'm worried she might fall under his spell again. Be careful," Sadusky warned. Oh, this made things even more interesting! Again, Ben had only to think of Abigail and Betsy.

There was no doubt in his mind that if something happened to Betsy, Abigail would make a deal with the devil himself to get their daughter back. And Ian was the little girl's father. What was her name again? Annie? That sounded about right, but Ben actually tried to put the news report out of his mind the previous night. Hearing that Ian's daughter was kidnapped brought back too many memories of his own.

"I'll keep an eye out. . .thanks for letting us know. Bye," Ben replied. He shifted Betsy in his arms, just enough to catch the phone before it hit his daughter and hang up. He looked down at his little girl, who was almost asleep and sighed, "You know, kid, there's a great line in one of the _Godfather _movies. Just when I think that I'm out, they pull me back in. Thing is, even Ian does send his ex-girlfriend to me, I'm not so sure I could blame him."

Again, he thought of that chance meeting outside the courtroom, when Ian apologized to him. There was no rancor in the man. . .just exhaustion. His eyes would shift ever so often to the door, as if expecting something. Or someone. Then he would return his gaze to Ben, who could see a mixture of relief and loss. Was he looking for his ex-girlfriend and brother? His daughter? And not for the first time, Ben muttered, "Dammit, Ian, why did you do it?"

"Uh, duh, because he's the bad guy? C'mon, Ben, we've been over this how many times now?" Riley asked. Ben never even noticed his younger friend there, never even realized that Riley joined him in the kitchen. Riley was opening the refrigerator door, leaning over Ben's shoulder at the same time, making faces at Betsy at the same time. Ben rolled his eyes, and Riley continued, "And why would you even think about helping him, after what he did to us?"

"Because his daughter and her mother never did anything to us. His daughter is eight years old. . .just a baby, Riley. How could you turn your back on an innocent little girl?" Ben demanded. Betsy began to fuss, and Ben almost dropped his daughter and the bottle as he tried to calm her down. Riley reached down and plucked the bottle from Ben's hands, allowing the still-new father to start calming down his baby daughter.

"Easy. She's Ian Howe's daughter, and it's got nothing to do with us. And I really don't think Abigail would ever agree to it. She went through hell because of that guy, too, remember?" Riley pointed out as Betsy released a burp that sounded incongruous coming from such a tiny body. Riley and Ben exchanged a look of shock, then Ben went back to patting his daughter's back.

"Abigail heard everything, and she sides with her husband on this issue. If Jocelyn Ramsey came to us for help, I would give it," Abigail replied. She held her cell phone in one hand, gently tapping on the antenna to nudge it down.

Riley and Ben stared at her in shock, shrugging as she explained, "Sadusky called me as well, probably after he got off the phone with you. It wouldn't surprise me if he called your father as well." God, that was the last thing they needed! Abigail continued as she took Betsy from Ben's arms, "And I'm surprised at you, Riley! I never thought I would hear you speak like that of an innocent child!" With Abigail, of course, '_I'm surprised'_ was just another way of saying, '_I'm disappointed_.'

"Look, I don't want anything bad to happen to the kid, but it's not our problem! It's got nothing to do with us, she was taken because of her father's sins. And as for her mother, well, it's her problem for sleeping with Ian Howe in the first place! What could she possibly have seen in him?" Riley asked, shaking his head. Now Abigail looked even more disappointed, and Riley began to squirm. While his friend had certain points in his favor, Ben couldn't help but enjoy himself.

"Well, in the first place, based on what I've learned about Jocelyn Ramsey, she was only twenty years old when she met him. . .a young girl, alone, in London. He was her rescuer, her knight in shining armor, and he was very, very handsome," Abigail replied. Now both Ben and Riley were staring at her, and Abigail said almost defensively, "What? He _is_ handsome. I can look, after all, I'm not dead."

Riley muttered something under his breath that Ben couldn't quite make out, and wasn't sure if he wanted to. Abigail continued, "What I'm saying is, the Ian Howe she knew was very different from the man who wanted to steal the Declaration of Independence. And Ben's right. Neither she, nor Ian's daughter, are responsible for whatever he did. If she does ask for our help, I'll do whatever I can. Because I hope she would do the same, if Betsy was taken."

She paused, looked at Riley for a long moment, then said, "I should put Betsy down for her nap." With that, she carried the baby from the room, leaving Ben and Riley staring at each other for a long moment. Despite his initial reaction, Ben wasn't so sure he could help Ian. It wasn't because of anything Jocelyn or Annie did to him. They weren't the problem. But the idea of Ian being anywhere near his daughter. . .that did scare him. It scared the hell out of him.

Yet, his wife was now saying she would do anything within her power to help Jocelyn Ramsey, if she asked for it. Riley said into the silence that followed, "I, uh, guess she told us. I don't want anything to happen to that little girl. But Ian. . .he's bad news, you know that!" Yes. Ben did know that. But if Abigail chose to involve herself, how could he protect her from whatever happened if he wasn't involved?

"Yeah," Ben murmured, "he's bad news." But his eyes remained on the door through which his wife exited. He had to ask himself. . .had to put himself in Ian's position. Would he have the guts enough to even consider asking Ben Gates for help? After everything Ian put them through. . .and again, the man was smart. . .would he have the guts to ask someone he put through hell. . .to help him?

At first, Ben said 'no.' Then he thought once more of the baby in Abigail's arms. He couldn't fathom having that. . .that amount of nerve. It would take a lot of nerve, indeed, to ask the aid of a man whom you wronged. . .whose family and very life you threatened. Or, on the flip side, that degree of humility. Being able to swallow your pride that much. But the thought turned to ashes.

_Be honest_, he told himself. _Is there anything you wouldn't do for that little girl? That little girl whom you held only moments after she was born? Would you lie, would you cheat, would you steal, would you kill?_ And the answer almost knocked Ben Gates back into his chair. Yes. Yes, to all of those questions. He would do anything for his daughter. Why, then, would he think that Ian Howe would do anything less? Ben knew Ian. . .knew the other man would never hurt a child, for any reason.

Would Ian ask for their help? That was anyone's guess, and in some ways, Ian was damn unpredictable. For now, Ben had work to do. For now. . .for now, he wanted to watch his daughter, and silently thank God that it wasn't his baby girl who was in mortal danger. There wasn't anything wrong in that? In being grateful that his own child was safe? Especially since she was so very small. That was what he kept telling himself as he trailed after his wife, leaving Riley Poole alone in the kitchen.


	6. Small Victories

Hi everyone! So sorry about the delay! I think my last day in Hawaii traumatized poor Ian. I need to make a quick announcement. As of this chapter, a new character is appearing. He is not mine. . .he originated on the late supernatural tv series, _Poltergeist: The Legacy_. (virtuously refrains from any smartalecky comments) Father Philip Callaghan, who was played by Patrick Fitzgerald, and there will be references to other characters from that show. You'll find out the reason at the end of this chapter. Which, I admit, is not one of my better ones, but I've been fighting with the characters and I think this is the best I'll get out of them for now.

Reviews!

Kat: Nope, a little fan girlish behavior never hurt anyone! Paul has already done something stupid. It's just gonna take a while before anyone figures out how stupid. He's actually trying to work up the courage to tell Ian the truth. More of Abigail and Ben in this chapter. More of Cam, too, although he has nothing to say. But, I wanted to check in with him.

Lukeskywalkerisahunk: Ooh, thank you! I'm not often told that someone is obsessing over my story! Here's more!

Elenhin: Hello, Mat, and welcome to the wonderful world of NT! I've greatly enjoyed fleshing out the characters (especially Ian), and more background on all of them is to come. I will admit that Ben and Riley will be in the periphery, and more focus will be on Ian, Abigail, et al.

Catalina: HI! Welcome aboard! It'll actually be a while before the two factions meet up. I'm not kidding when I tell you that it will take something of a disaster for Ian to even approach Ben and Abigail.

Terreis: Nope, sorry, no Tom Selleck! (laughs) I thought you'd like the 'back. . .front. . .legs. . .doesn't matter to me' line. (snickers) Ian insisted, and you know how insistent Ian is! Patrick, I appreciate that you want to protect your twin, but PLEASE don't try to kill Sadusky. Neither of you can afford it. And not to worry. . .reining in Sadusky is in the very capable hands of Carter and Mueller. No Ian flashbacks in this chapter. Maybe next. And, I seriously doubt if a lot of Riley fans will be reading this story. The ones who like both Riley and Ian, yes. But not the majority of 'em. Pauline. . .well. . .just keep reading. I'm having fun developing Abigail. You're right. . .they didn't flesh her out very well in the movie.

Chapter Five

Small Victories

As the father of four daughters, Andrew Mueller was entirely too familiar with the concept of small victories. Getting your child to bed on time, realizing that you had enough money to pay the bills that month, the discovery that you would qualify for vacation time. . .those were small victories just in his personal life. His professional life was another story altogether. Sometimes, it was the small victories that allowed a man to keep his sanity. And on days like today, it was a small victory, to just keep his patience with Special Agent Edward Sadusky.

The man was a good FBI agent. . .there was no doubt there. He had years of experience, and he was utterly determined when he was in pursuit of his quarry. But, in spite of the years he served, the man still didn't comprehend that there were times when compromise was necessary, just to do their job. Andrew hated it. He hated plea bargains, and he hated guilty people walking free. He hated the idea of a rapist serving a short time in jail. . .hated the idea of a murderer walking free on the street. But human beings were unpredictable beings, and no one ever knew what a jury would do.

Human beings were unpredictable, but there were some things that could be predicted. Jocelyn Ramsey's reaction when her daughter was kidnapped. She called her best friend, called her immediate supervisor. . .and then made plans to fly to Washington DC. Annie's father deserved to hear the truth straight from her. What wasn't so predictable was the child's father, and that was his primary cause for concern.

Andrew removed his glasses with a sigh, thinking about what he knew about Ian Howe. He was born in 1963, the first of two children born to an Irish émigré and his Scottish bride. His younger brother Cameron followed in 1968. The McDowell family was working class. . .not so different from Andrew's own family. His father was a coal miner in West Virginia. Joseph McDowell, on the other hand, worked in a factory. And like Klaus Mueller, he was unfortunate enough to work for people who thought themselves superior to anyone in the working class.

And also like Joseph, Klaus was an immigrant. He came from Germany as a young boy, and joined his father in the mines. The two young boys grew up very similar, Andrew Mueller and Ian Howe. Was it only happenstance that Andrew was now a law enforcement officer? Like his younger counterpart, Andrew developed a simmering resentment toward, and fascination with, the wealthy. So where did the similarities between Ian and Andrew end?

Who could say? From the files, Andrew learned that Ian wanted something more for himself and his little brother. Who didn't? Klaus wanted something far different for his own son. And Joseph knew his oldest son was a bright boy. He had such dreams for his Ian. The factory wasn't for Ian. Oh, no. No, he would get an education and he would show those smug bastards that he was just as good as anyone! But when Ian was a young teenager, his world fell apart. His parents were killed. While Norah McDowell quickly moved in the McDowell house to take care of her brother's children, the first layer of the wall that Ian used to protect himself went up.

Not long after his parents died, Ian began to get into trouble. He was a lanky young man, wiry and considered handsome by the young girls of the village. That only led to more trouble, but Ian faced it almost fearlessly. Attacking Ian or his younger brother Cam was not recommended, unless one wanted to be beaten to a bloody pulp. No one messed with Cam, not a second time, at least. Ian moved from a scrappy brawler to an enforcer for some of the local hoods, until those hoods realized just how smart the boy was.

And that was the beginning of his career as a thief. Andrew shook his head, saddened. The boy made his own choices, yes, but wasn't there anyone other than his aunt who watched out for him? Or was he too angry to listen to reason? Despite his aunt's best efforts, he got into more and more trouble. . .until he was arrested. By this time, he was in his early twenties, and determined that he would go down alone, so to speak. With the previous jobs he pulled, he saved enough money to send Norah and Cam out of England. He would pay for his crimes. . .it wasn't for them to suffer.

In jail, he met the man who would become his second in command, Derek Shaw. Shaw, an enforcer of sorts, was imprisoned for beating a man. The following year, they met Charlie Powell, who joined their small circle. And over the next five years, Ian was transformed from a young hood with a grudge against the world into something of a criminal genius. He was very interested in technology as well as history, and he wasn't afraid to use brute force when it became necessary. But there was one pattern that Andrew noticed. The man born Ian Thomas McDowell was a thief. . .but he avoided doing harm to others.

He could still mix it up with the best of them. Andrew smiled and shook his head. The man had no use for anyone who hurt a child, and on occasion, the bobbies would find a perp suspected of harming a child badly beaten and tied to a lamp post. But, for the most part, he was shifting into legitimate businesses by the beginning of the 1990's. He took business classes while he was in prison. Correspondence courses, naturally, and Ian was quite a good student. By the time he met Jocelyn Ramsey in 1992, he and his crew were pulling at most one job a year.

As a teenager, Ian was fascinated with archaeology, and he began funding archaeological expeditions with revenue from his legitimate businesses. He found in Jocelyn someone who shared his passion for archaeology and history. Included in the files sent to him was an explanation of his first meeting with the mother of his child. Andrew smiled in spite of himself. Yes, he met people who made those sorts of mistakes in a different country. In fact, he made them as well. The important thing was that she survived the encounter and didn't make the same mistake twice. No one could have guessed that the handsome, charming young businessman who was considered one of England's most eligible bachelors would fall in love with the girl he rescued that night.

And yet, it happened. Ian, who now used the last name of 'Howe,' fell deeply in love with Jocelyn Ramsey. There was no doubt in Andrew's mind. He took extreme steps to protect her when her life, and the life of their unborn daughter, was endangered. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and Ian was willing to take the risk. . .but he wasn't willing to risk his daughter's life. Or the life of the woman he loved.

Andrew scratched at his face. There were times when his instincts as a parent warred violently with his instincts as an officer of the law. But right now, his instincts were telling him that their best bet, not only to bring Annie home, but to protect her mama, was to okay this deal. When both sets of instincts were saying the same thing, Andrew listened. Sometimes there were small victories. . . sometimes there were large victories. And sometimes. . .sometimes, just ending things in a draw was a victory. He rose to his feet, groaning a little as his joints protested. He needed to talk to Agent Carter. Before he agreed to this, there were a few things that had to be sorted out.

* * *

As a law enforcement officer, Danae Marini believed firmly in small victories. She hated plea bargains with a passion, but there was always a chance that a jury would acquit. She knew this. And if the perp spent time behind bars, then that was something, wasn't it? That was what Danae told herself, at least. When she and her colleagues busted their asses on a case for six months, a year, or even two years. . .only to see the perp plead to a lesser charge, because the prosecutors weren't sure if they could get a conviction. . .it was what she had to tell herself. 

She had to tell herself that, for the sake of her own sanity. There were other small victories. Going through an entire day, without coffee being spilled once. For that matter, going through an entire day and not losing any money to the damn coffee machine in the break room. Or preventing a jam in the copy machine while their assistant was out of the office. Or checking out a lead that actually panned out, and wasn't somebody's idea of a joke, because of course, the FBI didn't have anything better to do with their time.

Those were Danae's professional small victories. She counted personal small victories as important. Being fortunate enough to be wearing slacks on a day when she needed to put gas in her car. Avoiding rush hour traffic. Actually getting more than five hours of sleep in one night. Or, just as importantly. . .getting Jocelyn to relax when she was practically bouncing off the wall in frustration and anxiety. That didn't apply to the current situation, but it happened often enough to drive Danae insane.

The last few hours saw a rise in frustration and anxiety for both women. Jocelyn was growing more and more withdrawn, her eyes distant as she stared out the window. Meanwhile, Danae tried not to check her watch. It was four thirty pm. She knew that this was a delicate matter. While she quickly realized during the course of her interview with him that Ian Howe was not the monster she imagined him to be so often, Danae nonetheless found herself wishing she could kick his butt as well for. . .

For what, exactly? For putting them in this situation? Whatever his crimes were, they didn't number kidnapping a little girl. The ones who did take Danae's niece. . .they were the responsible ones. But she also couldn't argue with this truth. . .Ian's crimes did make this a helluva lot more complicated. Danae hated complications. She hated them even more when they involved her family. Even so. . .she still wished her boss would call her, and let her know something. Yes, this was an awkward situation, but she did what they asked of her. She just needed to know if they were talking about it, at the very least.

When the hotel phone rang, Jocelyn nearly fell off her bed in shock. They were still expecting a ransom call of some kind from the kidnappers. Why the hell hadn't they called yet? Danae quickly righted her, then grabbed the phone, saying, "Agent Marini." She had no idea why she said that. Old habits, perhaps. She did notice, however, that Jocelyn relaxed, ever so slightly at Danae's use of her title. The agent flashed her friend a reassuring smile and sat down on the bed beside her, lightly squeezing Jocelyn's hand.

"Agent Marini, this is Andrew Mueller. I've read over the files you sent over. . .very thorough. Thank you. I'm inclined to agree to this request, especially after talking with Special Agent in Charge Carter. However, before I give my final approval, I want two things," a gravelly voice began. Andrew Mueller. Her boss mentioned him when she initially called in this morning. This was good. This was very good. Danae relaxed and squeezed Jocelyn's hand again. Taking Danae's silence for the agreement that it was, the man continued, "I've made arrangements to return to Washington DC. When I arrive, I'd like to talk to Dr. Ramsey and Mr. Howe. Separately. Can this be arranged?"

"Of course, sir," Danae answered, her voice amazingly steady, "in fact, if you like, Jocelyn and I can pick you up at the airport. Or rather. . .meet you at baggage claim." Up until almost four years earlier, she always met people at the gate. She was still getting used to meeting them at baggage claim, instead. Catching sight of Jocelyn's concerned expression, Danae flashed her a bright smile and gave her a thumb's up sign with her free hand. For the first time since Danae's return from the prison, Jocelyn relaxed. She'd sleep tonight. . .sleep like a log. Assuming, of course, that Ian didn't get his cute English ass kicked again.

"Only if you allow me to take you two ladies out to lunch afterward. Based on what Special Agent in Charge Carter told me, Dr. Ramsey will be far more likely to relax in that setting. I don't want to interrogate the girl. . .just get to know her. I want her to understand that we're on her side. Think she'll find that acceptable?" Mueller asked. Danae could have cried with relief, but that would have scared Jocelyn again. Calming her friend down once was hard enough. . .trying to calm her down while Danae herself was in tears? Oy. As her oldest niece would have said, they really didn't wanna go there.

"I think that'll work out just fine, sir. I'll call the prison, and let them know that you'll be there tomorrow afternoon to talk to Mr. Howe," Danae replied, careful to maintain at least that level of professionalism. Inside, however, she was mentally thanking God and whoever else was listening for this. No, the day wasn't yet won, but they were making progress. They were making very good progress. She squeezed Jocelyn's hand again, flashing her best friend her brightest smile. Danae added, "Is there anything else we can do?"

"Not at all. Well, just take care of Annie's mama for the moment. Has there been any word from the kidnappers since the last time we spoke?" Mueller asked. Danae shook her head, then realized that he couldn't hear her head rattle. Instead, she told him that nothing was heard as of right now. Mueller was silent for a long time, then he said, "I don't like the sounds of that. I don't like the sounds of that at all. All right. You take care of your friend, and I'll see you ladies tomorrow morning."

"Yes, sir. . .thank you. Thank you very much," Danae replied. Mueller hung up, and Danae gently replaced the phone in its cradle. She sat back, taking a few deep breaths, then looked at her best friend. Jocelyn was, as usual, trying to disguise her concern. Danae smiled and said softly, "It's looking good, Josie. That was my boss' boss. And it looks like we'll be able to get Ian released from jail to help with the case." Jocelyn almost sagged against her, and Danae put her arm around her friend's shoulders.

"I shouldn't feel so relieved," Josie murmured, "but I can't help it. Ian's Annie's father, he should be involved in this." Danae was on the verge of challenging that statement, by reminding Jocelyn of Ian's love for her, then she remembered her promise to Ian. She swore to him that she wouldn't say anything about that. She promised that Jocelyn wouldn't hear from her that he was still in love with her, that he never stopped loving her. She supposed she could have told Jocelyn anyhow, but that would have been a complication that none of them needed. There were too many of those as it was. And even while he was in jail, she really didn't think betraying Ian's trust was such a hot idea.

Instead, she answered softly, "Yes, he should be involved in this. Regardless of the reason for the kidnappings, Ian should be involved in the rescue. He's Annie's father, and he's Cam's brother. Now. You are still exhausted, so I think it's time for you to get some rest." Josie immediately began to argue, but her credibility was shot to hell when she allowed a jaw-snapping yawn to escape. She closed her mouth with a snap, looking more than a little sheepish, and Danae tried very hard not to smile. Instead, she rearranged her facial muscles into a mock-frown. She hustled Jocelyn under the covers, adding, "To sleep. Now, young lady."

Honestly, there were times when the mother was more difficult than the child! And every time Jocelyn began to fret about her daughter's stubborn streak, all Danae had to say was, '_she comes by it honestly.'_ After meeting Annie's father, Danae was even more sure of that. With twostubborn parents, it was no wonder Annie was the way she was! In fact, Annie was as much her father's daughter as she was her mother's, and not just in her coloring!

Jocelyn, thankfully, was unaware of this train of thought. Despite her obvious exhaustion, she continued to squirm under the covers. Danae chastised her friend, though she couldn't help but laugh. Jocelyn was always goofy when she was exhausted. Like now, as Jocelyn stuck her tongue out. Danae called her a brat, and Jocelyn retorted, barely awake, "Takes one to know one. I got an email from Pauline earlier."

That brought Danae up short. Pauline? Spooky cousin Pauline, the one who knew things she shouldn't? The spooky cousin who made it a habit to watch out for Jocelyn, and seemed to have a crystal ball to do so? That Pauline? According to family tradition, Danae's great-grandmother Marini was a village strega back in their native Italy. . .a witch or a wise woman. It was amazing, how often those two coincided. She died years before Danae was born, much less before the Marini family adopted her.

But the stories told by her father. . .the supernatural freaked Danae out. Big time. And Pauline freaked her out even more. She had this unnerving habit of telling Danae things that came to pass. Like the time when Danae mislaid the rosary that belonged to her birth mother, and Pauline. . .who had never even been in her house. . .told her exactly where she could find it. Maybe it was that memory which led her to ask Jocelyn, "And what did Cousin Pauline tell you, querida?" She smiled as Jocelyn swatted at her sleepily.

"Said nothing was as it seemed," Jocelyn mumbled, "par for the course." Danae could hardly argue with that. Indeed, she didn't even make the attempt. Instead, she remained at her best friend's side while Jocelyn slept. The agent tried not to think about the silence from the kidnappers, and instead focused on Pauline's message. It meant something. . .it always did. The trick was, figuring out what that something was.

* * *

There were others focusing on small victories that day. Not the least of which was Abigail Chase Gates. But she was actually thinking more about the larger victories. Like finding a good man, one who understood the way she thought. And making him see sense. From the moment she saw the news story about Annie Howe's kidnapping, she knew she had to do something. From the momentshe lookedat her own daughter, she knew she had to do something. Her daughter. Her beautiful, amazing Betsy. 

Once she was, as her father-in-law put it, cavalier with her affections. The words 'I love you' were so easy to say, and in some ways, they were easy to mean. And yet, until she held her newborn daughter, she never really understood love. Here, in her arms, was this tiny, helpless little being, who depended on her. Not to accomplish something for the Archives, and not for a treasure hunt. No. No, this amazing little creature whom she and Ben created. . .she depended on Abigail for her very survival.

And even more important, Betsy was the greatest treasure Abigail could have imagined. She never really thought much about having children. . .there would be time for that later, after all. She wanted to establish her career. And yet, here was Ben and here was Betsy, and Abigail was happy. She had her daughter. And Ian. . .Ian's child was taken from her mother. With a start, Abigail realized she actually felt sorry for Ian. Sorry that he might have never had a chance to hold his little girl. Months earlier, she would have denied this expression of compassion with her dying breath. But now. . . everything was different. The wounds she suffered during those traumatizing days. . . they healed, somewhat. And she saw things a lot clearer now.

She supposed, too, that she felt like she owed Ian something. If it weren't for his decision to steal/borrow the Declaration, she would have never met Ben, and she wouldn't have Betsy. She doubted if Ben thought of it in those terms, but men were odd that way. In addition, while she and Riley were in Ian's 'custody,' he never made any attempt to harm either of them. Though he certainly didn't get on well with Riley. . .none of his men did, though. Each time her young friend started to complain, Ian had only to look at him quietly, steadily. Riley would actually meep, then nothing more would be said.

And she had to admit. . .Ian could be very intense when he so chose. But. . .but he never did anything to hurt them, nor did any of his men. Not even Shaw, whom Riley said fired at them in the wreck of the _Charlotte_. Ian wouldn't have allowed any of his men to harm them. Perhaps there was a good man, buried somewhere deep inside of him. She certainly wanted to believe that. Abigail's mind turned to her own men. Perhaps she shouldn't be so surprised. . .or disappointed. . .by Ben and Riley's reaction. After what they all went through during the entire Declaration hunt, and even before then. But. . .

Familiar steps in the hallway alerted her that she was no longer alone. She knew the steps, almost as well as her own, and she smiled faintly. Yes, she should have realized that he would be up here to talk to her. And, she supposed she did. She supposed that in a different set of circumstances, she would be doing the same thing. If this happened a year earlier. . .yes. No doubt, it was a combination of 'talking sense' into her and finding out just why this was so important to her. Finding out why she was willing to go out of her way to help someone. Someone like. . .

"Why is this so important to you, Abigail?" Ben asked quietly and Abigail smiled to herself, shaking her head. Right on schedule. She very gently placed Betsy inside her crib. Her daughter cooed and waved her arms, drawing a smile from the blonde scholar. Her precious, precious daughter. Her angel, her treasure. Abigail reached out a gentle hand and caressed her baby girl's petal-soft cheek. Again, she thought of Ian Howe and his former lover.

She straightened up and turned to face her husband, saying softly, "Do you know, Ben, that we probably would have never met if not for Ian Howe? That our little girl wouldn't be here? I hated him for the longest time, but he changed my life. He changed my life, because he brought you into my life. I never thought much about being married or having children. . .that would come. But then a crazy Englishman wanted to steal the Declaration, and. . .and there you were."

Ben just stared at her in shock. As she suspected, he never even thought about it in those terms, but she had. And there was more. Abigail said softly, "I want to help her. I don't want to sit back and wait for her to ask, I want to go to her and offer my help. Can you imagine, Ben, what she feels at night? Thinking that she should check on her daughter when she realizes the little one hasn't gotten up for a drink of water, then realizing that she may never see her again?"

It seemed that her husband couldn't answer her. He just continued to stare at her mutely, and Abigail continued, "It's the right thing to do. One day, Ben, one day, our daughter will be a grown up. She will learn about this. And she will want to know if we tried to save the daughter of the man who brought us together. When she does, Ben, I want to tell her that yes. Yes, we were there to help bring Annie Howe home to her mother and her father, even if her father goes back to jail. Don't you see, Ben? Annie isn't responsible for what her father did! She's just a little girl, and Jocelyn. . . Jocelyn Ramsey can't be held responsible either. She loved him, she had his child. That makes her nothing less than a human being, and it certainly doesn't make her a criminal."

"And what if they release Ian from jail?" Ben asked softly, putting his hands on Abigail's shoulders. His eyes asked her if she knew what she was getting them into. There was no anger in his expression, only concern. But Abigail met his eyes proudly. She thought about this ever since she heard about Annie Howe's kidnapping. She did little else but think about it. And every instinct Abigail Chase Gates possessed, as a mother. . .no. . .as a human being. . .told her that this was the right thing to do.

"Then we deal with it, Ben. I don't believe he'll be a problem. I think. . .I think he will be entirely too worried about his daughter to even think about threatening us. Unless, of course, Riley decides to shoot his mouth off in a misguided attempted at providing levity. And really, Ben, if Betsy were missing, how would you react in that situation?" Abigail asked with a wry grin. Ben just cringed. She wasn't expecting him to answer, but answer he did.

"I'd probably wring his neck. Abby. . .I don't know if I can do this. But. . .I gotta admit, you make a lot of sense. I'll try to talk Riley through this, and you. . .you get to deal with my father. There are times when I'd swear he likes you better anyhow," her husband told her with a sheepish smile. Abigail laughed aloud, and hugged him tightly. No, this wasn't over, but they were making progress. And she could handle her father-in-law. Like many other young women in her position, she got along just fine with her father-in-law. Ben's mother was long dead, and. . .

Well, Patrick seemed to like her. Ben kissed her forehead, and told her, "I'll talk to Riley. After I kiss this beautiful young lady good night." Abigail smiled and released her husband, allowing him to go to their daughter. Betsy giggled and cooed, kicking her little legs happily. Abigail backed away, and bit her lip as Ben whispered, "I love you so much, my Betsy-girl. Yes, I do. I don't think there's anything in the world I wouldn't do for you. Anything at all."

At this, he straightened up and looked at Abigail, something dawning in his eyes. The scholar nodded and smiled. Yes, she understood. Ben whispered, obviously shaken, "I. . .I'll go talk to Riley now. Remember, you get to deal with my father." Abigail just laughed softly, and Ben stumbled from the room. It would take him a long time to come to terms with what he just figured out. She would leave him alone, for now. The young mother glanced at her child, then shifted her attention to the phone in the room. The ringer was turned off, to avoid waking Betsy, but she could call out.

The baby was going to sleep, and Abigail slipped over to the phone. It was a cordless, unfortunately. They had their uses, of course, and usually, she liked them. Now was not one of those times. She picked it up and punched in her father-in-law's number. On the third ring, Patrick Henry Gates answered, sounding positively cheerful. Abigail smiled, having a very good idea why her father-in-law was so cheerful, and said, "Dad, it's me. Did you talk to Agent Sadusky?" Her father-in-law lived on his own, despite Ben's repeated requests for him to move in with them. He was happy where he was, Abigail came to realize. And he realized that the newlyweds needed their space.

"I did. Talked to him. . .oh, about thirty minutes ago. Let me guess. . .you think you shouldn't say 'no' when Dr. Ramsey asks for help?" her father-in-law replied. There wasn't the slightest bit of question that they would receive a call for help. If it concerned Agent Sadusky enough to call them. . .Abigail didn't even bother to answer, and Patrick Gates continued, amusement in his voice, "If it's any consolation, Abs, I haven't stopped thinking about that little girl from the moment I heard the news report."

"All I can think is how I would feel if it was Betsy. And that little girl. It isn't her fault, what her father did," Abigail answered. She paused, then added, "And besides. If not for Ian Howe and his insane ideas, I probably would have never met Ben." There was a long silence from the other end of the line, then her father-in-law sighed deeply. Abigail would have twisted her finger in the phone cord, but then she remembered once morethat this was a cordless. That's why she wanted a corded phone, for times like these. Having a cord to wrap around one's finger actually could be marvelous for reducing stress levels.

"I'll back you all the way, Abby," came the reply. Abigail released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding, and Patrick continued, "Just. . .be careful, all right? This doesn't mean I forgive the guy or trust him. But his little girl never did anything to any of us. Punishing her is wrong. You still have to convince Ben. . .and that will be far easier than convincing Riley." Abigail gave a little laugh, and debated about whether or not she should tell him that Ben was started to see things from her point of view. After a moment, she shook her head. No. No, because then she would also have to tell him that Ben elected her to tell him what was going on.

There were other things going on as well. Yet, how could she explain that even if Ian Howe was released, as Sadusky feared, she didn't think their family had anything to fear from him? She couldn't. That would come with time. In the meantime, she said softly, "Thanks, Dad. I can't tell you what your support means to me. I just. . .I look at Betsy. And if I were in Jocelyn Ramsey's position, I would move heaven, hell, and earth to get my daughter back. And if I thought for one second that Ian Howe would help. . ._could_ help. . .I'd ask. In a hot New York minute, I would ask. How can I expect Jocelyn Ramsey to do anything differently? I can't. I just can't do that."

"I know, Abby. Listen, I kind of have a date tonight, and I really need to finish getting ready for that," Patrick told her. Abigail smiled with delight. Yes, she knew all about her father-in-law's girlfriend. And she couldn't have been happier for him. He missed Ben's mother, and while Abigail knew that her husband was nervous about the relative youth of Patrick's girlfriend, he could see that the lady in question made his father happy. That was something else Abigail learned lately. Love wasn't limited to the young.

"Go. Get ready for your date, and have a wonderful time. And thank you. I can't tell you how much your support means to me," Abigail said quietly. Patrick wished her luck, and hung up. Abigail looked at her sleeping daughter once more, saying softly, "Well, Grandpa will be there if we need him. Daddy is figuring out what we already know. Now we just have to convince Uncle Riley that we can make this work. He's stubborn. . .just like all men. But we'll figure out a way."

* * *

She didn't like the way Uncle Cam was breathing. It reminded Annie of how one of her friends breathed when she was having an asthma attack. She patted his hair, which wasn't as easy as it looked (felt?) when Mommy was doing it for her. Then again, Uncle Cam's hair was a lot shorter than Annie. The little girl picked at the food remaining with her free hand, food that Uncle Cam insisted that she eat. At first, she didn't eat, because she was too scared, but Uncle Cam told her that it would take time for Annie's parents and Aunt Danae to find them. And she got so hungry. . . 

Earlier, Uncle Cam asked her to tell him about when they went to the mall, and that distracted her for a while. But only for a while. Now Uncle Cam was silent, and Annie leaned back against the wall. Thinking about the mall made her hungry again, but she couldn't help it. Especially this was such a scary place, and she wanted to escape, if only in her mind. They were kept inside a dark room, with no windows. It made Annie very glad, in a way, that Mommy wasn't here. She knew that her mother was claustrophobic, and she acted strange when she was shut in a room without any windows.

She told Uncle Cam earlier that he should rest, but now. . .now, she wished he was awake again. She hated being alone. And that was when she heard it. A soft laugh, and Annie looked around fearfully. Wh. . .what was that? The laugh came again, then a gentle voice said, "You're not alone, you know." Annie's head jerked up. How on earth did he get here? Because sitting right in front of her was a man who looked older than Uncle Cam. He was big. . .bigger than some of the men who beat up Uncle Cam. . .and he was bald. The man would have looked scary, but he was smiling at Annie. She smiled back a bit hesitantly. The man said softly, "You aren't alone. Even when Cameron is asleep, I'll be here with you as well, Anne-Marie."

"You know my name?" the little girl queried and the man nodded with that gentle smile. Caution warred with curiosity. She wasn't to talk to strangers. . .but she didn't think her mommy would mind this time. After all, you weren't s'posed to talk to strangers because they might kidnap or hurt you, and Annie didn't really think this man could hurt her. He was big enough to hurt her. But. . .there was something odd about him. For one thing, she didn't hear him when he came in. For another. . .

"I know a great deal about you, little one. Your name is Anne-Marie Ramsey. Your mother's name is Jocelyn Patricia Ramsey, and your father's name is Ian Thomas McDowell. He's also called 'Ian Howe.' You were born June 22, 1996. Your mother is American and your father is English. He's ten years older than she is," the man said. Now that was something Annie didn't know! The man continued, "And I know that you're in the situation because of me. That's why I'm here."

"I don't understand. What did you do?" the child asked. She was still trying to figure out how he got here, how he knew so much about her, and what exactly he had done wrong. At least, she thought that he did something wrong. . .he told her that she and Uncle Cam were kidnapped because of him. But before that question could be answered, there was another question that was worrying her. She asked slowly, "Are you real?" Unexpectedly, the man laughed. Not a soft little laugh, like her mother or her uncle. Aunt Danae didn't really laugh that much, either. Mommy said it was an occupational hazard, whatever that meant. But this man _really_ laughed. Annie frowned at him, not sure if she liked the idea of this man laughing at her, for any reason.

"I am real. . .but I'm not alive. Reach out your hand and touch me, little one," the man said. Still frowning, Annie did just that. . .and gasped as her hand passed right through him. She stared at him in shock, and the man said, "You see? I'm a ghost. I'm real. You're not dreaming me. And I won't hurt you. I could never hurt you. You asked me my name. It's Derek. . .and your da was my friend. My closest friend. I died while helping him. And like I said, I'm here now, because it's my fault this happened to you."

And again, Annie asked, "How?" Derek just smiled at her. Little by little, she was losing her fear of him. Not that she had much choice. Uncle Cam was sleeping, and maybe this man, this Derek, was telling her the truth. She thought of something else, then, and said, "You know my daddy? Do you know my mommy, too?" Derek nodded, his eyes brightening. For some reason, that made Annie relax. Maybe because she heard the hatred in the man's voice when he talked about her mother. . .the bad man, the one who took her and Uncle Cam. And this man seemed to like her mother.

"I did know your mum. She. . .she is a special lady. We would watch cartoons together, and talk about the comic books we read. I'm here because of her, too. Do you remember when I told you about my job, helping to take care of your dad?" Derek asked. That wasn't exactly what he said, but Annie nodded anyhow, because she knew that was what he meant. Derek continued, "I didn't keep him from doing something very stupid. I knew what he was doing was wrong, but I didn't try to stop him. I should have."

"So why didn't you?" the girl asked, cocking her head to one side. Derek smiled almost sadly, and Annie continued thoughtfully, "You helped my daddy steal something, didn't you?" When Derek nodded, Annie went on, "Is that the very stupid thing you didn't keep him from doing?" Her companion dropped his head briefly, then looked back up at her. He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Annie didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but he kinda reminded her of Aunt Danae's boss, Miss LeeAnn, when he did that.

"No, honey. . .this was a long time before that. No, I let your father send your mother away after bad men tried to hurt you both. If we. . .if I had told your father that the two of you were safer with us than away from us, then your father would have never ended up in jail again, and you might not be here. I've heard you and your uncle talk about your parents. And he's right. . .about a lot of things. But more than anything else, he's right when he tells you that your father loves your mother, so much. He has missed her so much. And missed watching you grow up," Derek replied.

Annie blinked back tears, because even though she still had Mommy, Uncle Cam, and Aunt Danae, she missed her daddy. Especially after she met him in Myrtle Beach. She whispered around the lump in her throat, "He gave me a doll, did you know that? I named her 'Josephine,' 'cause she has dark hair like Mommy. And Mommy's name is Jocelyn." She missed her daddy, and she missed Josephine. And right now, she really, _really_ missed her mommy.

"I know," Derek replied, his eyes growing warm with affection, "he showed the doll to me. He wanted us to come with him. . .all of us. But Powell and me, we told him that as much as we wanted to see your mother again, that he needed to see both of you alone. Well, not totally alone, because your uncle Cam was with him. More than anything, Annie, you should know. Your father loves you, and your mother, very much. He sent you and your mother away, because he truly believed that if you stayed with him, you might get hurt."

"But if we stayed with him, he could have protected us. Daddy, and Mommy, and you, and. . .all of you could have. Mommy would have protected him, too, just like the way she protects me," Annie replied. Except this time. Mommy wasn't home, and not even Uncle Cam could protect her. Annie thought about that, then asked, "Derek? If we lived with Daddy, would that have made a difference? I mean, you would have protected us, wouldn't you?" Derek smiled at her, almost looking proud.

"Yes, we would have. It's easier to protect with greater numbers. And what your father didn't realize was that he and your mother were stronger together than they were apart. Would it have made a difference? That, I don't know. I just know that until your father comes for you. . .and your uncle is right, Ian will come for you. . .I'll stay here. And when the time is right, I'll make amends for what I failed to do. I promise you, Annie. By the time your parents and I are finished with your captors, they'll never hurt anyone again," Derek promised.

"Good! Derek. . .is my daddy a good person? I know he stole things, but Mommy wouldn't love a bad person, would she?" Annie asked. That was something else that still haunted her, even after Uncle Cam reassured her. Derek looked down, and almost seemed to sigh. When he looked up, there was a different look on his face. Kinda the way Aunt Danae looked, right before she went to testify in court against a really bad person, and she wasn't looking forward to doing it.

"Annie, I want you to understand something very important. Ian is not a bad man. Regardless of what those fools on television say, he is not a bad man. He did bad things, yes, very bad things. But he is not a bad person," Derek answered, leaning forward. Annie gulped a little, but didn't pull back. Derek sighed, adding, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, little one. But this makes me very angry. The truth is, the man whom everyone hailed as a hero? He did much the same things your father did. "

Annie blinked in surprise, and Derek continued, "I didn't know it at the time. But I know now, and I hate him now. I didn't when I was alive, even though I was angry with him. The woman who is now his wife, she didn't go with him willingly in the beginning." Annie frowned. Did Derek mean that this man kidnapped this lady? Like the bad men kidnapped her and Uncle Cam? Derek did, and he said so, adding, "Now, he didn't beat up Abigail, and he didn't hurt her, but in the beginning, she didn't go with him willingly."

"Then how come he's a hero, and my daddy's in jail?" Annie questioned, her child's sense of justice becoming very affronted. She knew that her mother would have said it didn't make what her father did any less bad, but it still wasn't fair. It wasn't right, and Annie didn't have to like it. Derek felt the same way, it seemed. He looked both angry and sad. Was he sad because he couldn't take care of Daddy any more, because it wasn't right, or because. . .?

She got her answer when he sighed, "Because the man who arrested your father. . .Special Agent Sadusky. . .made a deal with the other man involved. See, both he and Ben Gates belong to the same organization. Your father. . .we. . .were all wrong. We shouldn't have done it. And while I despise Gates, he also isn't a bad man. We could have found another way. Trust me, your father will be hearing about that other way from your mother."

He actually looked scared, and Annie laughed with delight. She clapped both hands over her mouth, and Derek grumbled, "It's not funny. Your mother can be very scary when she's angry." Annie knew that, that was what made it so funny! Derek was behaving like she was his mommy! Derek grinned at her then, adding, "And she's right. There was another way, but your father didn't want to use it. It would have meant asking your mother for help, and he wanted to keep her out of it."

"Daddy was trying to protect Mommy?" Annie asked and Derek nodded. She thought about that for a few minutes, then asked, "Derek? How come when Daddy tries to protect Mommy, he ends up making things worse?" Annie was nearly blown back by Derek's laughter. The little girllooked around a bit uneasily, hoping that no one came back. She was worried about Uncle Cam. What if those bad men came back, thought Uncle Cam was laughing, and beat him up again? Derek couldn't help. . .he was a ghost.

"Because, sweetheart, that's how it works. Or so it seems. The harder your father tries to protect your mother, the worse things get. And don't worry. They can't hear me, or hear me laugh, because I don't want them to. That's why you can see me. . .or, at least, part of the reason. You can see me, and hear me, because I want you to. The other reason is, because you can. You have Celtic ancestry, on both sides. You know your mother sometimes knows things that she shouldn't, right?" Derek asked. Well, yes. . .but Annie thought that was just part of being a mommy. Derek added, "Being your mother ispart of it, yes. . .but there's more. Would you like to hear? I'd rather be talking to you than scaring Gates half to death, anyhow." Annie needed no time to think about that. She nodded eagerly. Of course she wanted to hear this!

* * *

The papers were full of the story. Daughter of an international thief, kidnapped from her home in North Carolina. The papers, the tv stations, the radio stations. The daughter of the Declaration thief, now the victim of men as evil as her own father. Evil. That prompted a harsh laugh. He could show them evil. They probably wouldn't survive the encounter. Their kind never did. They didn't know what true evil was. He did. He did, oh, he knew all too well what evil was. . .and it wasn't Ian Howe. 

The man sat back, sighing quietly as he looked around the airport. . .something of a last look around. He lived in this city for years, but it wasn't home any more. If, indeed, it ever was. The kidnapping was the final straw for him. Over the last several years, he grew more and more disconnected with Boston. There was too much hurt here. Too many memories. And now he was needed else where. Much to his surprise, when he approached the bishop about taking a leave of absence of indefinite length, it was granted. People noticed how distracted he had been during the last few months. They were talking about it. The corners of his mouth lifted without any real amusement. Of course.

He shifted in his seat uneasily, and looked at his watch. Thirty minutes until boarding. Father Philip Callaghan looked up again, straightening his shoulders. He should have never left his cousin. Either of them. He should have realized they would still need him. He. . . _Stop_, he told himself, _you aren't omnipotent. You couldn't have known what would happen. Stop tryin' t' be somethin' you're not_. He tried that for years, and it nearly got him killed on more than one occasion. Nowadays, he left the crazy stunts to his cousins. Well, the elder of the two. In one of those queer twists of fate, the younger one actually hadmore sense than the older one. Wasn't like that in his family. Michael was the good brother when they were kids, and Philip was the hellion, up until he was about fifteen.

All right, maybe it was exaggerating, to say that Michael was the good brother. Philip's lips twitched as he remembered his older brother coming home aftera visit to England. How old were they? Philip must have been about ten. . .Ian would have been about thirteen. And Michael, who was about a year or two older than Ian, proudly informed his younger brother that he dyed their cousin's hair green. . .and they were still trying to wash it out. Why had he done it? Maybe a dare from Cameron, who didn't believe anyone could get the drop on his brother?

And how long did it take them to wash the green out? Philip couldn't remember. His cell phone rang and he removed it from his coat pocket. If it was San Francisco again. . .no. With a frown, he tried to figure out who was calling him. The number didn't look familiar, but that didn't prove anything. It was probably one of his parishioners. Philip hit the appropriate key and asked softly, "Hello?" He immediately regretted answering the phone. With a wince, Philip held the phone away from his ear as Emma Gilchrist began haranguing him.

How she got his number, Philip had no idea. He had as little to do with Aunt Linda's family as possible. He loved her. . .they all did, but especially he and Michael. Technically speaking, Uncle Joseph was actually his cousin, but Philip and his siblings called him 'Uncle Joseph' and his wife 'Aunt Linda.' Especially since Ian and Cam were so close to their own ages. He always loved his Aunt Linda. But that love didn't extend to certain members of her family. Including the one now calling him. Philip would have to remember to block her number. Especially since Emma called him for one reason. She heard from heaven only knew who that he was leaving Boston to see Ian.

And she didn't like it. No, she didn't like it one bit. The older sister to his aunt Linda, and the oldest child, she regarded herself as the keeper of the faith within the clan. Keeper of the faith, keeper of the flame. . .keeper of the morals, too, if he wanted to be honest about it. And she was the type of person whom her own siblings disliked.Philip,used to haranguing females after his time inSan Francisco, finally broke through and exclaimed, "Emma!"

Dead silence. Not used to people fighting back, was she? Under ordinary circumstances, Philip would have cared. These were hardly ordinary circumstances. The priest continued, dropping his voice to avoid drawing attention to himself, "Listen to me very carefully. I am going to Washington DC to bring what comfort I can to my cousin." That unleashed another torrent of verbal abuse. Philip, however, was in no mood to put up with this. He cut into her tirade by simply hanging up.

This was very unusual for the gentle priest whom his parishioners knew. But Philip's nerves were already on edge, just by flying. He was worried about Ian. . .as well as a little angry with his cousin. He had another argument with Nick the week before. About Ian, of course. The others in San Francisco knew about his connection to Ian, and Nick wasn't inclined to forgive him for his cousin's attempt to steal the Declaration. Philip, however, knew that there was far more to this situation than Nick knew. Of course, his old friend wouldn't listen to him about that.

He really did not need further aggravation, least of all from Emma Gilchrist! However, he was determined to put aside his frustration with Emma, who was likely frustrated that Cam didn't cut his brother out of his life. Oh, he didn't go to his trial, at Ian's request. But he spoke his brother's name freely. Angryhe might be with his older brother, but Cam refused to behave as if Ian never existed. _Which is_, Philip thought ruefully, _probably one reason I've always liked him. _

However, there was no more time for ruminations on his family. His flight was called, and Philip rose to his feet. . .his boarding pass in one hand, and his carry-on bag in the other. Ian needed him. It wasn't Philip's Irish blood which told him so, or any such thing. Ian was family. His daughter was kidnapped. . .the daughter he sent away years before, before the little lass was even born. That had to be killing his cousin. Ian needed him. And family was family. No matter what Emma might think.


	7. Remember

Before I get to the reviews (oooh, lots of reviews this time!), please wish me luck. I had a job interview last Thursday at our local health department, and I'm going to another place to fill out an application tomorrow. Also, just as an fyi. . .steamy scene ahead. No real sex, just a lot of implications.

Reviews:

IrethAnwarunya: Thank you. . .and how's this for soon! Keep reading!

Kat: Uhm, let's say for the sake of argument, that Philip entered from stage left, since he's going from Boston to Washington DC. And yes, another sexy man added to the story. He will NOT be the last one. (evil grin) The request hasn't been officially okayed yet, but it will be. The next chapter involves Mueller's meeting with the ladies and Ian. And, for your reading pleasure, more of Ian in this chapter. A LOT more. Two full sections worth! Jocelyn is strong, but her control slips a little (okay, a lot in this chapter). Abigail is taking on a life of her own. I thought she was okay in the movie, but the more I write her, the better I like her. Isn't Derek cool? He's also a lot of fun to write. Wasn't Annie adorable in that section? 'oh. A ghost. Okay.' Philip is gonna LOVE her.

Bookwurm290: I'm glad you're enjoying this. You're quite correct about the points you raise; however, Shaw's loyalty is to Ian, not to Ben. In fact, it was rather clear during the movie that he resented Ben. So, while talking to Ian's daughter, it's entirely likely that he'll play up Ben's sins, while toning down Ian's. As he admits in this first section.

Kit: Hey, it's good to see you over here! And yes, things are about to become very interesting. Very, very interesting, especially once the paths converge, and Ian and Jocelyn are under the same roof. (evil grin)

Emily: Thank you! (smiles affectionately at Ian) Yeah, the way I've been writing him is pretty much the way I see Ian. Especially where children are involved. I hope I didn't keep you in suspense for too long! Unfortunately, I haven't been writing as fast I'd like, because I've been job-hunting.

Gin (chapter five. . .yes, I'm working backward this time): Yes, Derek is a ghost, and he is quite real. I have a great deal of fun turning things around. . .I mean, really, where is the fun, where's the imagination, in writing the same thing as everyone else? I have to be careful, though. While I certainly see shades of gray, I'm not a moral relativist.

Gin (chapters three and four): You know, I've gotten a lot of comments on the whole thing about Shaw being in jail over a puppy. Again, it goes back to my love of turning things sideways or on their heads. It's fun to do that. And while watching the movie, Ian seemed like someone who wouldn't be overly-fond of overly-used phrases, but for that situation, the endearment fit. And Ian finding out he was to be a father. . .yet another situation where the character wrote himself. He does that. A lot. You raise a good point about Ian's decision to send Jos and the baby away, and that's mentioned in this chapter.

And I wasn't overly-fond of Sadusky, either. Not sure why, as I usually like cops in tv shows and movies.

Gin (chapter two): Danae rocks, doesn't she? I love her to death. You know, if you ever come across a fellow Southerner who has a touch of an English accent, let me know how it sounds? I'd be curious to know how close they actually are. We already discussed the bit about Jocelyn being kidnapped in email, but that will be brought up in the next chapter, when Mueller meets with the evil twins (Jocelyn and Danae). And I would have definitely taken that art class myself. (grins)

Gin (chapter one): You know, I see the teenaged Ian (especially before his parents were killed) as being a very mischievous, borderline wild child. And that wild streak hardening with rage after he lost his parents. Not a bad kid. . .just your typical teenager who thinks he has all the answers and doesn't think anything can happen to him. And 'Ian-style chaos' was something that just seemed to fit.

Gin (prologue): Well, hopefully most of your questions have been answered, although I know I haven't explained why Ian stayed away so long, and didn't even try to contact Jocelyn until Annie was five years old. However, I'll be getting to that once Ian's home (or rather, out of jail).

Rhivanna: Oh, I hoped to see you over here! I know you love Ian about as much as I do. I'm glad you're enjoying this. . .oh, and there will be at least one more character introduced before all the shouting is done. (evil cackle) Let's just say that dear cousin Pauline wants to make sure Jocelyn understands exactly what she means by, 'nothing is as it seems.' Did I mention that Pauline's husband is an FBI agent? Uh-huhhhhhh. . .

Celebwen Telcontar: Why, thank you! No, I've never let someone's death stop me from writing them into the story. Shaw was cool, I especially liked his ferocious loyalty to Ian. More to the point, I liked the team's loyalty to each other. I felt badly for both of them. I have been in a position where I lost my best friend (an accidental death), and it hurt for a long, long time.

Elenhin: Exactly. Ian was afraid for Jocelyn, flat-out terrified for her. He wasn't thinking clearly. . .how could he? And trust me, we haven't heard the last about the attack that set Ian on that path. Oh, and I'm still thinking about writing the story about Michael using the green hair dye on Ian. I just don't know how I'm gonna do it yet. Derek Shaw's role in this seems to be rather popular! I'm glad, because he'll be around for a while.

Whew! Okay, now, on with the story!

Heart Bound in Chains

Chapter Six

Remember

He didn't tell her the whole truth. However, he wouldn't apologize for it. First, being fair to Benjamin Franklin Gates held no interest for him. Number two, what he said was mostly true. And number three, in his ever-so-humble opinion, the whole truth wasn't important. Annie needed to know that her father wasn't the evil monster he was made out to be, and Derek Shaw told her that particular truth. That was far more important than being fair to Ben Gates. _Annie_ was far more important than Ben Gates.

Derek watched over the now-sleeping child, matching her coloring and features against both of her parents. She did have Ian's coloring, only somewhat darker. Red hair and green eyes, a few shades darker than her father's. She did look like her mother, however. She had Jocelyn's features, only miniaturized. And in the months since his departure from the mortal coil, as the saying went, Shaw divided his time between watching over Annie and her mother, and Ian.

Technically speaking, he knew it wasn't necessary for him to watch over Annie and Jocelyn. That's what Cam was for. . .it certainly wasn't because he belonged with Jocelyn! No, no, no! Jos belonged with Ian, and vice versa. When those two would figure that out was anyone's guess. Derek supposed that was why he watched over the mother and daughter, just like he watched over Ian. Until Ian and Jos accepted that they belonged together, and worked through their issues, someone had to watch out for them.

Right now, Ian was in very good hands. . .Tanner Masters, aka 'Tiny.' And wouldn't things get interesting when they found out whom he really was! Derek laughed softly to himself, glancing quickly at Annie. Yes, she was still asleep. Good. If he woke her up, and Ian somehow found out about it, it wouldn't matter if Derek was a ghost.

Ian would still figure out a way to make him pay, and as for Jocelyn. . . Derek barely held back a shudder. He wasn't joking when he told Annie that he was afraid of her mother when Jos was angry. There was a saying. . . it was the quiet ones you had to look out for. And Jos was living proof of that. Derek smiled, remembering all the times when she scared them. Not by doing something crazy. . .that was left to Ian, and to the team. No, she scared them by losing her temper. Not something that happened very often, but when it did. . .

Well, the wisest idea was to run for cover. She was a bit like Ian's cousin, Philip, in that respect. Philip was another quiet person, who was mostly easy-going. Right up until the time you pushed him too far. At that point, as Ian liked to say, it was best to find the nearest fallout shelter. Derek didn't know Philip that well (and, he learned during his time here, neither did another Derek of Philip's acquaintance. . .however, he had less excuse. He knew Philip for nearly ten years, on a daily basis. As opposed to Derek Shaw's three meetings with him).

However, he was familiar with the personality type. And Ian often told him that he wished Philip and Jocelyn could meet. Both were quiet, easy-going people. Both had Irish tempers (in Jocelyn's case, courtesy of her mother's side of the family), and both were rather exasperated with Ian's antics on occasion. They were both, at the same time, ferociously protective of their shared family. Derek wasn't entirely sure how much of that had to do with what Philip saw while he was a member of the Legacy (bunch a' wankers) and how much had to do with the death of his brother Michael in an IRA terrorist bombing.

Derek knew the reason for Jocelyn's attitude. She grew up as an only child, and she was devastated by first her grandmother's death, then by the deaths of her parents. It took Ian and the team a long time to get the story of her parents' deaths out of her. . .and when they finally had the whole story, a few of them wished they didn't. That was something Derek could never understand. . .why did people insist on blaming the victim? Why did they insist on treating the daughter of the victims, a girl of twenty, as if she was to blame as well? The demon in human flesh who murdered Jeannie did the same thing.

It infuriated Derek Shaw, it infuriated him and it sickened him. He supposed that was one reason why he was so protective of Jocelyn, even now that he was dead, and she was technically back in Ian's life. Well, yes, there was the fact that Ian was in love with her. That part went without saying. Even if he hated her, he would have protected her, just because Ian loved her. Such was his loyalty to Ian McDowell. However, there was also the similarities between her and his Jeannie. Besides. She was just a kid. How could he not want to protect her? Especially since she wasn't an annoying little git like Riley Poole.

And that brought his mind right back to the Gates party. Had someone pointed out that Ben Gates was a victim, Derek would have laughed outright. Gates lost nothing, and gained everything. Shaw lost his life, but he would have done the same thing, all over again. Better him than one of the others, better him than Ian. Derek didn't have a girl whom he still loved, nor did he have a young daughter who needed him. The team was his family. . .Ian and the other lads, along with Jocelyn and Annie. And, he supposed, Cam and Philip, though he didn't know them that well.

Ian had Tiny. Jocelyn had Danae. Annie had Cam, but right now, Cam couldn't protect himself, much less her. Derek was limited in what he could do to protect her, but at least he could watch over her. Not for the first time, he cursed himself. When all was said and done, he was the one most responsible for this situation, aside from the actual kidnappers. But there would come a time when he could make things right. . .and he would. Oh yes. He smiled a little coldly, his eyes narrowing as he thought about it. He would make things right.

At the same time, he realized that both Ian and Jos would be most put out with him if he didn't leave something for them. Derek knew Jos well enough to realize that right now, she quietly blamed herself for her daughter's kidnapping. He also knew that when he reached Washington DC, Andrew Mueller would set her straight. In very clear detail, he would explain to her that it didn't matter what she did. . .Annie would have still been kidnapped. What wasn't as clear to Shaw was if she would accept that.

_Well_, he thought, _if she doesn't accept it, coming from Mueller, maybe she'll accept it coming from Ian. He'll put her to rights. And that's not taking into account the scary Danae Marini, Jocelyn's creepy cousin Pauline, or Pauline's husband Will_. In fact, the more Shaw thought about it, the better he felt about things. With that kind of line-up, how could he feel anything but confident about his family's chances?

* * *

"No. No, no, and oh yeah, no."

The reaction wasn't a surprise. Nor was the vehemence. What was a surprise, at least to Ben Gates, was his own mixed feelings. Despite his words to his wife, and his acceptance of what he would do for his daughter, Ben still wasn't real fond of this plan. However, he put aside his concerns, and told Riley Poole, "Well, if you don't want to be a part of this, that's fine, Riley." Riley's eyes narrowed, and Ben continued, "But you'll be the odd man out. Abigail has decided she'll help Jocelyn Ramsey find her daughter, and she won't wait to be asked. I'm going into this with my eyes open. . .and I won't let my wife do this alone."

"Are you insane? Hello? Who's to say that she isn't just like her ex-boyfriend? Who's to say she won't try to shoot you herself?" Riley asked, waving his hands in obvious distress and frustration. Ben hushed him, his eyes shifting to the stairs. He thought he heard Betsy crying. If Riley woke Betsy up, he would shoot the kid himself. . .forget about waiting for Jocelyn Ramsey to do it for him! The young man cringed a little, evidently realizing that he was getting just a little too loud. In a much quieter voice, he said, "I mean it, Ben. You don't know what she's like! She could be even worse than Ian!"

"No. But I do know what Abigail is like. There is no way in the world I can talk her out of this, Riley. She's bound and determined. Everytime she looks at Betsy, she thinks about what she would do for our baby girl. And that means the only way I can protect my wife, in the unlikely event that Jocelyn Ramsey is the mother of all monsters, the way you think she is, is if I'm there with her. Now, like I said, if you don't want in, that's fine. You can stay here with Betsy and take care of her," Ben answered.

Riley squeezed his eyes shut, then muttered, "You're really gonna do this, aren't you? Regardless of. . .fine. You wanna stick your head back into the lion's mouth, I can't stop you. And there's no way you're doing this without me. Someone's gotta keep you out of trouble." Ben barely held back a smile. Riley rolled his eyes, adding, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. So tell me this, Sherlock. What do we do if Sadusky's right, and the Feds decide to let Ian out of jail? How do we make sure he doesn't try to kill us, again?"

"I don't think we have to worry, Riley. Really. Think about it. In the unlikely event that they do release Ian, he won't be going anywhere without a guard of some kind. The threat to us will be minimal. Especially if they decide to keep him in the same hotel as his ex-girlfriend," Ben replied. He actually thought about this a great deal since his conversation with Abigail. When he wasn't thinking about what he would do to safeguard Betsy, or what he would do if anyone ever took her, if anyone ever hurt her.

"And what if he bamboozles the Feds, like he did the kid who testified for him at the trial?" Riley asked, folding his arms over his chest. Ben cocked an eyebrow at his young friend. He wondered what part of the statement he should address first. They were lucky with the trial. He learned enough about the law during the last few months that Ian could have easily gotten off. Riley knew this as well. Ian's defense attorney had enough information from the early FBI notes of the case about their activities during the hunt for the treasure to inflict serious reasonable doubt. The only reason that information wasn't used was because of Ian's depression over the loss of Shaw.

As for the young boy who testified on Ian's behalf. . . Ben pointed out, "And that boy probably wouldn't have testified for Ian, if he hadn't come back from reading the Silence Dogood letters to find you gone, Riley." That earned him a sour look, as it was a memory of which Riley wasn't especially proud. Ben added, "Don't give me that look. You know it's true. We can count ourselves lucky that Ian's lawyer didn't seriously destroy our credibility during the trial. You were there. You know that. So, no. No, we don't have anything to worry about, not with regards to Ian."

Riley still didn't look convinced, and Ben added, "Besides, it's not like I'm planning to invite him into this house! There's a good chance that we won't even see him, even if they do decide to release him. You gotta admit, it makes more sense to have him on the outside, where they have better access to him. Now, Abigail is planning to contact Dr Ramsey tomorrow. How she's planning to do that, I have no idea, but sometimes, it's better not to ask. Especially not where Abigail is concerned."

"I heard that," his beautiful wife said in a hushed voice, and the two men turned to face her. She looked very tired, but also very triumphant. Triumphant? Abigail said with a smile, "First off, keep your voices down. Betsy is finally asleep, and I'd like her to stay that way. Secondly. . .Dad gave me his full support. Seems he has a problem with allowing a little girl to be punished for the crimes of her father." This was said with an arch look toward Riley. He glared at her, but Abigail, true to form, didn't back down.

"How many times do I gotta say it? I don't have a problem with the kid. . .but it has nothing to do with us. Not our problem! However, someone has to go along with the two of you, to make sure you don't do anything stupid. . .and just in case Jocelyn Ramsey proves to be as trustworthy as Ian. You know she could betray you, Abigail," Riley warned. Now Abigail's expression changed to annoyed. Ben sighed, quietly grateful that Betsy was asleep. She adored her Uncle Riley, and got very upset when she sensed tension between her mother and her uncle.

"Really, Riley. Perhaps I should question Ben's loyalty to you, considering that Ian and Ben were on the verge of becoming friends. I never realized that you believed in guilt by association," Abigail said tartly. Ouch. That would leave a bruise. Before things could spin out of control, Ben put his hand on his wife's shoulder, and fixed Riley with a Look. The youngster bit his lip, as if to keep from saying something he would truly regret, and backed down. Abigail added, "And the converse is true. . .Jocelyn Ramsey has no reason to trust us."

"Excuse me? We didn't do anything to her. . .so why wouldn't she trust us?" Riley asked in patent disbelief. Ben exchanged a look with his wife. While he could see Riley's point, he also realized that Abigail was right. Looking at things from Jocelyn's perspective once more, Ben imagined himself being very wary in that position. For all she knew, they could be offering their help as a way to get revenge on Ian for his part of the Templar hunt.

And this was what Abigail pointed out, saying, "She doesn't know us from Adam, Riley. For all she knows, we could be offering our help in order to stab her in the back, as payback for what Ian did during the Templar hunt. We would never do such a thing. But she doesn't know us, and she doesn't know that. Right now, she's scared and angry. Ben, that's why I want you to let me meet with her alone initially. One on one, woman to woman, she'll be more comfortable and more inclined to trust us. If the three of us swoop down on her. . ."

"She'll get jittery," Ben replied, nodding his agreement. He wasn't happy with his wife's plan, but he understood what she was saying. However, he had stipulations of his own under the circumstances, and told her, "But there are a few qualifications to that. First, you let me drive you there and pick you up. I want to be in the general area. . .and I want the meeting to be in a public place."

Abigail made a face at him, before admitting reluctantly, "That's the idea. It's as much for her comfort as my safety." Damn. He should have realized that Abigail would come up with that on her own. The mother of his daughter added, her smile tinged with a gentle teasing, "That should have gone without saying, Ben. I have more sense than to meet someone I don't know in a secluded area without back-up."

"Great. So while you two are making nice with Lady MacBeth, what am I supposed to do?" Riley asked. Ben noticed anger flare in Abigail's eyes at this description of Dr. Ramsey. He couldn't help agreeing with her. They didn't know yet what sort of woman Jocelyn was, and until they did, they really didn't need Riley bad-mouthing her. Riley evidently understood that he was dangerously close to pushing Abigail too far, because he mumbled, "Right. I'll stay here and take care of Betsy."

"We'll discuss that another time. . .once I've set up my meeting with Jocelyn. Maybe you'll go with Ben, and I'll leave Betsy with her grandfather. You'll just upset Betsy with your anxiety, and you know babies sense these things," Abigail replied. She kissed Ben's cheek, then quietly slipped upstairs. Riley followed, looking subdued, while Ben made his rounds. He couldn't help thinking that this situation was truly upsetting Abigail. He never heard her speak to Riley like that before. But what was causing it? Was it a simple case of '_there but for the grace of God go I_,' or was it something else?

* * *

These last few days marked probably the most eventful hours of Ian Howe's life, excluding the hunt for the Templar treasure. In less than twenty-four hours, his former lover came back into his life, with the news that his brother and daughter were both kidnapped. . . possibly for access to Cam's work as a scientist, but it was equally probable that the kidnappings were a strike against Ian himself. During that twenty-four hour period, he also realized that he was still in love with the mother of his child, and met her best friend.

Oh yes, and he couldn't forget being beaten up by five of his fellow inmates. Ian wasn't entirely sure if they hated him for stealing the Declaration of Independence, for standing up to Winters, for being English, or for some other reason he didn't know. On the other hand, as he told Danae Marini, sometimes merely existing was reason enough. He encountered that mentality before. Dispelled a few people from his team because of that very attitude. . .and would have been stabbed in the back, literally, by those people, if not for Shaw.

The prison was mostly dark now, and he was finally alone. No more visitors. . .well, except the behemoth who was his self-appointed protector. Masters was permitted to remain with him for reasons he didn't fully understand. However, he didn't say much of anything, which was very welcome. It gave him all the more time to sort things out in his mind. Assuming, of course, that he didn't confuse himself further. Ian thought ruefully about an old song from the 1980's, '_No More Words_,' and how the title was so very appropriate to his current outlook. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate people who cared about him. He did. Very much. But after a while, he became tired even of the well-wishers, tired and cranky.

Paul finally left a few minutes before lights out, stating that Ian was to rest. The prison guards came through shortly thereafter, supposedly to make sure he was staying out of trouble, but the wink he received from Talbot revealed that as a lie. Besides, he really didn't think the prison guards were stupid. To summarize his day. . .he had broken ribs, bruised insides, his head was still killing him, and he could barely stand upright without aid. What kind of mischief did they think he could get into in that condition? Never mind. He didn't think he wanted to know.

On the other hand, being hurt. . .or ill. . .never prevented him from partaking in pleasurable games with Jocelyn. In fact, such games often distracted him. They also distracted her, because she was less likely to fuss over him. Ian smiled inwardly. Jos wasn't overbearing in her fussing, usually. Only if he did something so unbelievably stupid, she couldn't believe it (in which case, she was usually aided by Shaw and/or Powell). But, even so, it was bloody embarrassing to have your five foot two inch girlfriend playing mother.

If only because he enjoyed it so much. It was an affront to his masculine pride that he soaked up her fussing and her ferociously protective attitude toward him. He should be stronger than that. It never stopped him, however, from curling up in her arms when she lay down beside him. It never stopped him from sighing with soft contentment when he felt her fingers slipping through his hair. Never, because it felt too good. In her arms, in her presence, he was free to lay down the armor. . .and just be Ian.

Of course, it took him a long time to even acknowledge how he felt about her. From the time they first kissed until Ian could no longer fight his desire for her was a period of months. And once he realized he was in love with her, he began backpedaling. It scared him. He never felt that way about any woman in his life, and what made it all the more terrifying to him was Jocelyn's innocence. She truly was as innocent as she seemed. . . likely a byproduct of those months she spent recuperating after the accident.

"You really miss her, don't you?" Tiny Masters asked quietly, and Ian started. He gasped a little at the pain that shot through him, then forced himself to relax. It took him a few moments to regain control, then he remembered what Tiny asked. He smiled without much humor. Oh god, yes. The big man continued, "Would you tell me about her sometime? We don't know when we'll hear about you getting out of jail." We? Ian frowned as Tiny shifted his bulk around to the front of the bed, where Ian could see him, and the giant continued, "I told you. A mutual friend wanted me to look after you."

"Mutual friend? Would you at least tell me this person's name?" Ian asked wearily. Tiny seemed to think about that for several moments, as if inwardly debating the matter, then finally shook his head. Ian sighed, immediately regretting it when his ribs and face protested the action. He told his cellmate, "I thought as much, but I had to try. All right. I'll tell you about her in the morning. Right now, I need to get some sleep." Never mind that he slept on and off through the day. The pain medications made him sleepy, and he knew from bitter past experience just how badly pain exhausted a person. Tiny made no objection, and comforted by his memories of Jocelyn, Ian slept.

And as he slept, he dreamed about her. Those were always the sweetest dreams for him. Dreams of Jocelyn, dreams of Annie, memories of his years with Jocelyn. During an earlier conversation with Paul, the boy pointed out to him that maybe what he did wasn't so wrong. Maybe he succeeded in protecting his Jos and his Annie. After all, as Paul pointed out to him, they had no way of knowing how many other attempts at kidnapping there would have been, if Ian hadn't sent them away.

Ian never really allowed himself to think like that. Maybe he was punishing himself, but in recent years, he found himself thinking more and more often that he made a mistake when he sent away Jos. He never really thought about the possibility that he was right, that he actually did protect them both. And right now, those weren't the memories that captured him and held him in their sway.

Instead, he dreamed about his first time with Jocelyn. For months after they first kissed, after Jocelyn first admitted how she really felt about him, neither was really ready to make the first move. Ian was terrified of frightening Jocelyn, and Jocelyn. . .well, Ian really didn't know what frightened her. Unless she was frightened of frightening him. More likely, she was afraid of pushing him too far, of asking more of him than he was prepared to give. That was Jocelyn's style. She was very cautious about what she asked of people. She was very cautious about the lines she was crossing. So, for that matter, was he, where she was involved.

A former girlfriend once told him that there was a particular line in every relationship, the line between intimacy and casual. To her, that line was the difference between kissing and making love. Ian, then his early twenties, thought it a good rule. It was something he kept in mind when dealing with the thoroughly confusing section of the population, namely, women. However, as she often did, Jocelyn Patricia Ramsey blew the hell out of that theory. She was uncommonly good at that, and Ian often thought she derived a great deal of pleasure from blowing all of his long-held, often cherished, ideas about women to hell.

She was contrary enough to do just that.

With Jos, the line between casual and intimate was crossed long before their first kiss. The line was actually crossed while neither of them were looking. . .which was why, once he figured out how he felt, Ian dragged his feeet about 'taking their relationship to the next level,' as the saying went. She was ten years younger than he was, not even twenty-one years old yet, and there were times, remembering his criminal past and the sorts of mischief he was making at twenty-one, when those ten years seemed like an eternity.

The worst part of it, of course, was the fact that he loved her. He loved her, he was in love with her, he was completely barmy about her. He would have done nearly anything she ever asked of him, no matter how crazy it was. That was why he was dragging his feet, why he couldn't bring himself to do anything other than kiss her. Their kisses. . .God, their kisses were mind-blowing enough! Which brought Ian to another conclusion. If the kisses were mind-blowing, if he lost himself in the kisses, what would the sex be like?

Bloody hell. He was scared. He was scared out of his mind, and Ian Howe didn't like being scared. In dreams, more than ten years later, he could almost laugh at his younger self's stupidity. He could find it amusing now. Because for the next fortnight, after coming to that conclusion, he began distancing himself from Jos. It was a lot easier than he thought it might be, as she was up to her pretty eyes in papers and such as the year drew to a close. He began to relax. That was his first, no, his second mistake.

One thing he forgot was just how well Jocelyn knew him. She saw more of his soul than anyone except his men, and he forgot that. Thus, he underestimated her. His first mistake was in thinking that Jos didn't realize that he was distancing himself. For all that she was very young, she was also very smart. Confined to a wheelchair for months after the accident that almost took her life, she became very good at people watching. Studying their expressions, their body language. And Jos studied him intently during their time together.

More fool he. And in the meantime, he continued to make himself, and others, utterly miserable. At this time, it was himself, Powell, Shaw, and Shippen in his team. Gregor and Phil hadn't joined them yet. Shippen had no real opinion. Powell held his tongue, though Ian could see the worry in his eyes. Shaw, on the other hand, told Ian that he was being an eejit. And he could get away with it. He realized, even before Ian, that Jocelyn made him happy. Nearly every day during those two weeks, Shaw suggested that Ian call Jos before he made a bloody mess out of his life.

There really were times when Shaw was smarter than Ian. The same was true of Jocelyn. When he returned home to his flat after a mind-numbingly boring meeting with a (legitimate) business partner, he was tired and lonely. . .and. . .what the hell was Jocelyn doing here? She had a key. . .Ian allowed her to use his place when her flatmates were driving her mad. But. . . what was she doing here? On his bed? Jos rose to her feet, smiling a little, and said, "You look surprised to see me, Ian. What, you thought you had successfully driven me away? I gotta admit, I couldn't figure it out at first, then my roommate Lil put things into perspective for me."

_Oh. . .bloody. . .hell_. In spite of his best efforts (or more likely, because of them), she figured it out. He was dead. He was SO dead! Ian could only stare at Jocelyn, the words repeating in his mind, '_oh bloody hell, bloody bloody hell_.' He couldn't look away. If he looked away, he wasn't sure what he would find when he looked back. And. . .what was she wearing? As she sat up, then rose to her feet, Ian thought, '_oh. . . my. . . God_.' Black. She was dressed, head to toe, in black. Tight black jeans. . .a black spandex top with spaghetti straps. . .and a black, lacy thing slung along the back of her shoulders And yes, the black spandex top also looked like it was painted on.

It was hot in here. When did it get so hot in here? It wasn't supposed to be so hot in here. Ian was still staring at Jocelyn, and she smiled a little more broadly, saying, "Oh, Ian. It hurt, in the beginning, when I realized you were pushing me away. I couldn't figure out what happened, what I might have done wrong. Then I got angry, and then Lil told me what she thought you were doing. What she thought was likely happening. Guess what. . . I think she was right. She told me that you were pushing me away, because you were afraid. The question is, are you afraid of me. . .or are you afraid for me? Why are you frightened, Ian?"

If Ian was capable of thinking clearly, he probably would have laughed at the question. What, he had to choose what scared him more? He would have made such a smart-arsed remark, but instead, what came out was, "Both." And the word was out before Ian could stop it. He blanched and Jos walked closer. That was when he understood why she was here. Of course. How could he have been so bloody stupid?

Then he said something that proved what an idiot he was. When he thought back to it, hours later, he could have slapped himself for being so stupid. Ian asked hoarsely, "Are you trying to seduce me?" Jocelyn smiled, her face lighting up with. . .with amusement? Yes. . .amusement. Jos stepped even closer to him, her finger tracing the line of his jaw. Ian barely held back a moan at the contact. It was so unfair of her to do this. He worked so hard to protect her, to keep from. . .

"You've already seduced me, Ian. . .I'm just returning the favor," she purred in response. Did he just. . . Ian swallowed hard then, as he realized he did indeed hear what he thought he heard. Jos said softly, "I told you. . .after the first time we kissed. . .how I felt about you. Remember?" How could he forget? His trousers were getting tight, just thinking about that first kiss. . .those first kisses. And why was it getting hotter in here? He really should have someone look at that. Jos went on, "One thing I've learned. . . especially by having roommates considerably older than myself. . .seduction can take many forms."

"Jos. . ." he began, fully intending to. . .do something. Talk her out of it, maybe even reject her advances. He didn't really know then, and he didn't know now.

That was all he said, all he had time to say, before Jos rocked onto her toes and kissed him. He was given no opportunity to protest. Ian groaned as she wrapped her arms around his waist, drawing their bodies closer together. She came here to seduce him. Evidently, she hadn't realized that particular battle was won. By her. Then Jos deepened the kiss, and Ian's brain started shutting down. He should be fighting her. He knew this. But he had missed her. He had missed her, so very much.

She drew away, her own eyes glazed over with desire and. . . Ian closed his eyes. No. No, he could fight this, he could be strong. He had to be strong, for them both. Jos whispered, "Look at me, Ian. I won't let you run anymore. I won't let you protect me from myself, or from you. I'm almost twenty-one years old, past the age of consent, and I want you. I've wanted you for a long time. Look at me, Ian!" This last was a command, not a request, and Ian's eyes flew open. He looked at her. . .and felt himself drowning.

This was why he pushed her away. This. . .sense of drowning, this sense of being in way over his head. That, and the knowledge that Jos was stronger than he was. Much stronger. If she decided to fight him about this, he would lose. Worse than that, he stood no chance against her. She was younger, but she was stronger. He whispered, trying to convince himself as much as anything or anyone else, "I shouldn't let you do this. I shouldn't. . .you don't know what you're getting into, Jocelyn!"

She let him pull back, replying quietly, "Don't I? I'm not stupid, Ian, I know you've served time. I heard what was said at those parties. I'm not deaf, and if I don't understand English slang, I ask someone I trust about it. I know, Ian. I know, and I love you. You won't scare me away. I don't scare easily. You can't almost die. . . almost end up paralyzed. . .and be easily frightened. I'm stronger than I look, and you of all people should know that."

He started to say more, but her hands fell from his waist. The relief was momentary, for she began unfastening his belt. Ian caught his breath, and Jocelyn said, "I choose _you_. I _want_ you." She pulled the belt free, and unfastened his trousers next. Even as her fingers worked on his pants, she caught his lips in another searing kiss. He couldn't fight her. . .least of all after that double-pronged attack. He was lost. He was hers.

There was nothing left for him to do. . .nothing but surrender. And he did. Through a haze of desire and dizziness, he traded kisses with her, moaning a little when her fingers brushed his bare skin. She unbuttoned his shirt, then slid it over his shoulders, the pads of her fingers only barely skimming over his flesh. Over his shoulders, down his arms, past his hands. His fingers caught hers, tangling and weaving the digits together. Then Ian felt her fingers release his, before encircling each of his wrists.

What was she doing? The answer came a second later when he felt the denim of her jeans under his hands. They rested on her hips now. It hardly seemed fair that she was still fully dressed, while she already removed his shirt and unbuckled his trousers. However, he was in no condition to argue with her. He should have been chilly, the night air caressing his bare skin, but Ian felt like he was burning from the inside out. He moved his hands to the small of her back, drawing her closer to him, and almost groaned at the sensation.

"'S 'bout damn time. Was starting to think that I would have to do this all myself," Jos mumbled against his lips. He would have laughed, but instead gasped as her lips started wandering. Oh. Oh, she didn't play fair. He closed his eyes reflexively, trembling a little. The corners of his mouth, the line of his jaw, the side of his neck, the hollow of his throat, all received individual attention from her mouth. His head tilted back almost instinctively, and Jos took full advantage, brushing her lips along each side of his collarbone.

"Mmm. . .think. . .ahhh. . .might. . .think bed might be more comfortable," Ian rasped, focusing long enough to get the words out. He didn't wait for her to agree, just swung her around in the general direction of the bed. It should be noted that she certainly wasn't arguing with him. And fortunately, he aimed in the proper direction. The last thing Ian wanted to do was end up on the floor. Jocelyn deserved better.

She lay underneath him, the kisses coming to a quiet halt as she stared up at him. His arms remained tight around her waist, but neither made any attempt to get the rest of his clothes, or any of her clothes, off. Instead, they stared at each other for a long moment. Ian whispered softly, finally catching his breath, "Are you sure this is what you want, Jos?" He was on the point of telling her that there was no going back, but Ian bit his tongue. Jos was a lot of things, but she certainly wasn't stupid.

Unexpectedly, her desire-glazed eyes came into focus. Tenderness. She replied tenderly, "Ian. . .yes. I am sure. I have waited for you for a long time. I can't think of anyone else whom I would want for my first. I can't imagine anyone whom I trust as much as I trust you. I can't imagine loving another man as much as I love you. I know you're scared, but if you can't trust yourself, then trust me. I won't let you go, Ian. I won't let you fall."

He found a patch of skin along her collarbone and kissed it, drawing a shiver from her. Oh. It was good to know that he could have that effect on her. Ian breathed, "Too late. I've already fallen." She shivered again, then did something very unexpected. Her fingers slipped into his hair, then pulled his head forward. Startled by the action, Ian didn't fight her. And a second later, he found his head resting against her chest, his cheek resting half on her pale skin and half on the black spandex top she wore. And through the fabric, he could hear her heart.

"Then trust me to catch you. I'm a lot stronger than I look. You should know that by now," Jocelyn replied. The odd thing was, he did know that. And he didn't find the visual she gave to him at all strange. He closed his eyes and simply rested against her. He ached for her, but he wasn't ready for this final plunge. Things were happening too fast. She deserved better than unbridled lust for her first time. She deserved laughter and tenderness, things that he wasn't capable of right now. He needed. . .he needed to breathe a few moments.

And he loved the feel of her fingers in his hair. Loved the sound of her heartbeat, the sound and the feel. He loved her. He loved her so much, it made his throat ache (along with the rest of him). In his dreams now, he remembered undressing her, his own clothes joining hers in the heap beside his bed. He remembered lying in her arms, her lips brushing his hair every few moments, and feeling so. . .grateful.

The following morning, the entire team was in Ian's living room, waiting patiently to hear what they would do next. Shaw had a broad smile on his face as Ian exited the bedroom, looking very disheveled, with Jocelyn in tow. She wore one of his shirts, her hair resembling Medusa, now that he thought about it. He always liked that wild look on her. But not a word was said by any of his men. She was one of theirs now, and one of theirs she would remain.

* * *

She didn't sleep more than a few hours. That was the way it went the last few nights. The previous night, she lay in bed and pretended to be asleep, with the hope that she could keep from waking up Danae. And she did. But tonight, she was too restless to remain in bed when she woke up at two in the morning. Jocelyn slid out of bed and walked over to her carryon.

On top of everything else was a picture she hid away for years. She wasn't entirely sure why she took it out now, but. . .it felt necessary. With another backward glance at Danae, she carefully unzipped the bag and removed the framed picture. The frame was cool to the touch, and slightly dusty. They were all there. Victor Shippen. Philip Carstairs. Gregor Petrov. Charlie Powell. Derek Shaw. And in the middle was Jocelyn, locked in Ian's arms. His chin rested atop her head, and he was grinning at the camera. Jocelyn smiled sadly and touched his face. He had such a beautiful smile.

She remembered the first time he smiled at her. It took her a good twenty minutes before she could form a coherent thought once more, much less speak coherently! This very special picture was taken only a week after she and Ian found out she was pregnant. And for the first time, it occurred to her. Ian. . .Ian thought to pack it when he. . . Jocelyn sighed and put the picture down, rubbing her fingers across her forehead. She understood why he did it. . .she did. With the kidnapping of Cam, and of her daughter, she understood.

But the memory still hurt. Did he understand, she wondered, why it angered her so much? Probably not. It took her ages to comprehend that as well. How, then, could she expect him to understand? Jocelyn looked at the picture once again, at the way the guys were grouped around her protectively. They were always protective of her, once she and Ian became an official item. But after they found out that she was pregnant, she had five nursemaids. It was hysterically funny, since all of them were big tough guys, but it was also terribly sweet.

And she hadn't been that loved, that protected, that cherished since her parents died. Her smile died as she thought about those miserable days after she lost her parents. It took her a while to explain about that loss. And the firestorm that resulted, the firestorm that turned her against all journalists except Pauline, and drove her across the Atlantic. When she finally did tell them about it, Shaw was the one most affected. Finally, about a week of stewing, he quietly took her to one side and told her that if the perps ever got out of jail and came to England, he would personally break their necks.

She supposed that she should have been horrified. . .aghast. . .at this promise to do violence on her behalf. Instead, she was grateful and touched. Shaw protected her because Ian loved her. But he was willing to avenge her parents because Derek himself loved her. It amazed and humbled her. He was willing to take that sin upon himself, so she didn't have to. There were many kinds of love in the world, Jocelyn came to realize. And that kind of love was no less worthy than any other.

"You look so happy."

The voice should have surprised her, but Jocelyn felt she couldn't be surprised at this point. Without looking up at Danae, she replied quietly, "It was about a week after Ian and I found out about Annie. Ian was able to keep the news to himself for about four days. They weren't pleased with him." In spite of herself, Jocelyn couldn't quite keep the laughter from her voice as she continued, "But finally, they understood that we wanted time to ourselves, to savor it, to enjoy it. . .and each other."

At that, she did look up at Danae, who smiled at her. The other brunette settled on the ground beside her, wrapping her arms around her legs, then rested her chin on her knees. Jocelyn smiled back and went on, "They were over the moon. From that moment on, I had two of them with me at all times. That wasn't Ian's decision, by the way. It was theirs. I became one of theirs when Ian finally admitted how he felt about me and we became a couple. But when they found out about Annie, found out. . . Well, they all became overprotective nursemaids!"

Danae laughed outright, no doubt trying to image this, and Jocelyn continued, laughing herself, "It's true! They were constantly fussing over me, making sure I was warm enough, making sure I was sleeping enough, making sure I was eating enough. And they were so damn cute about it, I couldn't get angry." Or. . . She corrected after a moment, "Maybe I should say, I couldn't stay angry with them. You hear these stories of women whose men are absolute pricks while they're pregnant. Not only did my man take care of me. . .but his entire gang did!"

"Amazing. Absolutely amazing. General translation," Danae observed dryly, her brown eyes dancing with laughter, "not one of them ever told you that you were gaining too much weight. . .because if that happened, one of the others would have smacked him upside the head." Jocelyn laughed outright once more, her fingers caressing the glass casing. Oh, the stories she could tell Danae! Unfortunately, she was growing sleepy once more, so she couldn't do that. But she would make a note to herself. . .Danae would enjoy hearing these stories.

"Are you kidding? Out of all of them, Ian fussed the least! The guys worried that I wasn't gaining enough weight! Every time I would go to the doctor's office for my prenatal checkups, it was the same story. '_How much weight have you gained? Is that all? That's safe? Are you sure_?' They were fussier than a maiden aunt chaperone at a ball, whose charge was the only female in a room of males!" Jocelyn laughed in response. That provoked another outburst of giggles from her friend, and Jocelyn added, "If we get Ian out of prison, ask him. He'll tell you!"

"When we get him out, cara mia, I'll do just that. Mind if I ask you one more question before I tuck you back into bed?" Danae inquired with an evil smile. Jocelyn glared at her. She hadn't been tucked into bed since. . .well. . . That wasn't important. Danae asked, growing serious once more, "Why didn't you go back to England, after Annie was born?" Jocelyn's own smile slipped as she traced Ian's smile one last time before tucking the picture back into her carryon bag.

"Can I answer that another time? Because I'm not sure if what. . .I'm not sure if I'll make any sense if I try to explain that now," she answered. Danae looked at her with compassion (not pity, thankfully. She couldn't tolerate pity right now), then nodded in acceptance of this request. Jocelyn sighed and leaned her head against the drawer, murmuring, "I really am tired, you know? I hope I can get back to sleep." Danae rose to her feet gracefully, then grasped Jocelyn's wrist and pulled her up.

"You will, cara. C'mon. Let Tia Danae tuck you back into bed. Shall I sing for you as well?" Danae teased, steering Jocelyn back toward the bed. Jocelyn would have smiled at that, but she suddenly heard an echo of her daughter's voice, "_Sing to me, Mommy? Please_?" And it was almost as if Annie was in the room with her. Looking toward the bed, Jocelyn could almost see her daughter laying there with an angelic smile. But of course, she wasn't.

Jocelyn's eyes filled with tears, and she nearly tripped over something. Maybe her shoes, she couldn't tell. And, she supposed, it didn't matter, either. The image of Annie in that bed remained, but even now, it was fading. Danae's strong arms wrapped around her waist, gladly offering her own strength. Jocelyn tried to speak, but the sudden ache in her throat prevented that. Danae whispered, "It will be all right, amica. We'll get her back, and then we'll kick the asses of whoever took her and Cam. Capisce?"

"She's my baby," Jocelyn choked out as Danae released her long enough to put her hands on Jocelyn's shoulders and turn her around, "she's my baby girl, and I shouldn't think about anything else. God, Danae, what kind of mother am I? I let my little girl be taken! I let those freaks of nature take my Annie, and I wasn't there to stop them! I should have been there! I should have protected her!" Then she couldn't say anything else, because her face was buried against Danae's shoulder, and the two women were holding onto each other for dear life.

Danae whispered, "It wasn't your fault! Do you understand me, it wasn't your fault! You can't be there all the time, Jocelyn, and they were determined to take her. They would have taken her if you were there, or if she'd been at school. They would have taken her if she was with me. They're the guilty ones here, not you! Not you, not me, and not Cam. Them. And you know that, too. But right now, you're exhausted, and you've been carrying this burden by yourself." Jocelyn tried to shut down her hearing, but didn't even have the energy for that.

In the beginning, she ran on fury and terror alone. She pushed the guilt to the back of her mind, because there was too much to do. Jocelyn made herself available to the FBI, even providing her own fingerprints as a comparison to the other fingerprints in the house, just in case one of the kidnappers got careless. She answered their questions, helping them to construct a timeline. They figured that the kidnapping occurred somewhere between six pm, when Jocelyn called Cam from the office to let him know that she was on her way, and seven fifteen, when she arrived home. That gave them a place to start with their questions.

And then she had to fly to Washington DC, to tell Ian face to face that his brother and daughter were both kidnapped. But from the moment she stepped inside her devastated home to find her daughter and. . .friend. . . missing, Jocelyn hadn't allowed herself to deal with her guilt. Now, with a better than even chance that Ian would be released long enough to help find Annie, and exhausted by the lack of sleep, Jocelyn's protective shields vanished. She sobbed into Danae's shoulder helplessly. Danae added softly, "You need sleep, cara. Remember this. No matter how much you blame yourself, Annie knows the truth. She knows it's not your fault. And she knows that you'll come for her. And she's glad you weren't taken, because that means there's someone who will come for her."

Jocelyn wanted to believe that, but. . . Danae didn't leave her any room for argument. She gently nudged Jocelyn backward until the backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed. The historian sat down with a soft thump, and as she promised, Danae tucked her in. Once Jocelyn was covered up, Danae lay down beside her and stroked her hair, murmuring, "Sleep, Josie. Just sleep. Shhh. Just sleep." Emotionally and physically exhausted, Jocelyn did just that. She closed her eyes, and there was nothing more for a long, long time.


	8. All Points North and South

Sorry about the delay. . .the majority of the chapter was written, but it needed some fine-tuning. Especially Abigail's part. Not much of an author's note this time. . .just wanted to let everyone know that thanks to my newly-employed status, I should be updating more regularly. Long story there. Maybe another time. I also wanted to mention the fic I'm writing with my friend Terreis, a crossover between _National Treasure_ and _Stargate SG-1_, _A Brilliant Disguise_. For now, I have reviews to go through!

Jen: Hi and welcome aboard! I'm glad you've enjoyed the tale so far, and I hope you enjoy the latest bit.

Lazaefair: Okay, now that's a cool name, even if I did have flashbacks to my freshman year of high school and history class! (grins) Anyhow, I'm so glad Jos and Annie have endeared themselves to you, and that you're rooting for Ian and Jos. It won't be smooth sailing, but really, it wouldn't be nearly as much fun if it was. As for the supernatural elements. . .I can see your point, but Shaw has a twofold purpose in the story. One, he is a companion for Annie when Cam is unconscious, and two) he acts as a narrator when I have everyone together (e.g., Ian, Jocelyn, Danae, Ben, Abigail, et al). That is to say, he gives an outsider's perspective. I don't plan on using him as a deux ex machina and he definitely won't be like Patrick Swayze in _Ghost_. He talks about redemption, but there are many kinds of redemption.

Rhivanna: Oh yeah. . .sweet and stupid at the same time is a good way to describe some men. And Ian, in that situation. . .poor thing. He never knew what hit him. Tiny. . .uhm, that'll be a few more chapters. I have to put Ian through the wringer a little more. You know, I'm dying to see the _Sharpe_ movies, but I've only just started reading Bernard Cornwell. I'm reading a book of his right now, _Scoundrel_, when I don't have anything else to do at work. He's got my attention, big time! I think what really made me go 'aw' was when I found out that BC dedicated one of his _Sharpe_ novels to Sean Bean, because our boy Sean was just phenomenal. That's nice to see.

CT: Oooh, goodie! Halfway between laughing your lungs out and crying your eyes dry is a very, very good thing! (for me at least).

Gin: I think Riley was meant to be cute and funny. Now, I don't know if you watch _The 4400_ on USA, but their character Marco, the one who has a crush on Diana. . .he's funny. And thanks, I always get nervous when I write steamy chapters. Am I going too far? Not far enough? In the end, I write what I'm most comfortable with, and it seems to work. Poor Ian. I don't think his elevator was going all the way to the top. And I couldn't resist the image of the guys as nursemaids. It was just too cute of a mental image.

Kat: No worries. Considering the thunderstorms we had here last week (I came home from work almost every day in a downpour. . .as in, sheets of rain, and the entire road flooded), I totally understand. You gotta be careful with the computers in that kind of weather. Abigail is the biggest surprise to me in this story. . .when I was planning the story out, she was sort of on the sidelines, just the blonde who was there. But now. . . sheesh. Totally different story. You're absolutely correct about Ian. . .at that particular point in time, he didn't have a working brain cell. Poor baby. Yes, Danae is, as they say in LOTR, showing her quality all the time. And trust me, Jos knows just how lucky she is to have Danae. We have a little of that conversation in this chapter. Yes, at least one more sexy man, maybe more. We'll see how crowded it gets.

Kit: Ohhh, you know what I'm talking about, then? Yes, I have two brothers, one older and one younger, and a whole SLEW of very protective family members, both blood and mutually adopted. I just could not resist the image of Ian's gang fussing over Jocelyn after they found out she was pregnant.

Mat: You know, that's a good way of putting it. . .she took all the wrong choices away from him, and just left him with one. We hear a little about that from Jocelyn's perspective in this chapter. And though I don't doubt he's been with a lot of women, I get the feeling sometimes that, like many men, intimacy is something that frightens Ian. And given Jocelyn's age, et al, when he first met her, I really have no trouble believing that he would do something stupid, like try to push her away in a misguided attempt to protect her. In the end, though. . .the person who had to make the choice was Jos.

Chapter Seven

All Points North and South

The surprise wasn't that Jocelyn broke down. The surprise was that it didn't happen sooner. Long after Jocelyn fell asleep, her face wet and swollen with tears, Danae remained awake, keeping a vigil. Ever so often, as Jocelyn would stir in her sleep, Danae would touch her hair or her shoulder, and softly murmur to her. The words weren't important. As far as Danae could see, just hearing her voice was more important than what she actually said. She spoke to her friend in English, in Spanish, in Italian.

For once, the tv was turned down low. Danae hadn't the patience to watch a mind-numbingly stupid late night movie. . .or, for that matter, late night tv in general. She saw the pictures, of course, but paid very little attention to the muted murmuring coming from the tv. Her roommate was far more important. Danae learned the hard way that sometimes, what Jocelyn said while she was asleep was just as important as what she said while she was awake. Yes. Josie talked in her sleep. Danae smiled ruefully, wondering to herself if that was something new, or if she did the same when she was with Ian. More to the point, the next time she saw him, should she even bring it up to him? Or was that something, yet another reminder, of what he lost? That was a tough question. One that needed further examination.

And she thought a great deal about what led her and Josie to this place and this time. Her mind drifted to Jocelyn's breakdown earlier. In some ways, Danae blamed herself. She should have seen it coming. She should have known that Jocelyn would eventually blame herself. That kind of second-guessing was common. _I'll need help_, Danae acknowledged silently, _because I don't think I've convinced her. She's playing the 'what-if' game, but the trouble with that is, people don't think through 'what-ifs.'_ Andrew Mueller would be able to help her there. He had been with the Bureau about as long as the evil twins were alive.

The evil twins. Danae laughed under her breath, careful not to wake the for-once still Jocelyn. Who was it that first labeled them, 'the evil twins,' anyhow? Was it Cam? While it sounded like something he would say, she didn't think so. Far more likely that it was one of her fellow agents, after seeing them teamed up. They were so different in terms of appearance. Jocelyn was the girl next door, and Danae was the sultry, sassy siren. Or so the saying went. Danae wasn't especially fond of the alliteration, but couldn't deny it was a catchy title. The press would have loved it.

The press. Danae made a face, thinking of the unofficial branch of government. There were a whole slew of other, uncomplimentary terms she could have used for them as well. Something would have to be done about them during the investigation. She would talk to Mueller about that as well. The press would expect to be kept in the loop, especially since the kidnap victims were the brother and daughter of a known felon. Danae had a few choice comments for all the times she heard the media harp on about that during the last few days, but it would wait until she got some sleep as well.

She wasn't the most diplomatic of people under the best of circumstances, and this hardly counted. Funny. That was one of the first discoveries she made, when she got to know Jocelyn. They both absolutely loathed the media. Danae had her reasons, and Josie had her own. But it all came down to one thing. . .reporters had this unbelievable knack for asking the most stupid, inane questions known to humanity. From '_how did you feel when you found out that your family member/friend was killed in the plane crash'_ to asking the same question twice in a row to. . .

Well, there really wasn't a need to go any further. There were times when Danae, and many of her fellow agents, wondered if there was a specific class in journalism school, called 'Stupid Questions 101.' That was the only reasonable explanation for some of the truly idiotic statements (and questions) they came up with. She really wasn't looking forward to dealing with the press on this case. Maybe she should leave that to Mueller. Danae smiled in spite of herself. Better yet. Maybe she should leave that for Ian to do! Might be fun!

On the other hand. . .no. No, they didn't want Ian back in prison for assaulting a reporter, not even a stupid reporter. After all, it wasn't against the law to ask stupid questions. If there were laws against stupidity on the book, the prisons would be even more overpopulated than they already were. And Danae couldn't decide if that would make her job easier or harder. Probably a little of both. That was usually how it worked, at least. Life was a trade-off, her father always told her while she was growing up.

Well, right now, Danae would trade just about anything to return her best friend's daughter to her. She realized she kept leaving Cam out of the equation, but that was because a) he was a grown up and b) she couldn't figure out where he fit in the equation any more. Before this all happened, Danae believed that eventually, Jocelyn would marry Cam and they would all live happily ever after. That was before Danae met Ian and realized that feelings ran high all around. That was before she saw how much Ian still loved Jocelyn. And as for Jocelyn's feelings for Ian. . ._ay, que lata!_

She didn't approve of the actions he took. But, at the same time, Danae could not argue with one very pertinent fact: Ian sacrificed his own happiness to keep Jocelyn and Annie safe. It was done against Jocelyn's will, without her consent. . .but he did it because he loved her, and he honestly believed it was the most unselfish thing he could do for the mother of his child, and for that child as well. That had to count for something.

* * *

The flight from Boston to Washington DC wasn't long. . .just a few hours. And rather than think (of which he had been accused of doing too much), Philip Callaghan used that time to rest. Once he arrived in DC, and made his way to the prison in Virginia where Ian was being held, he would get precious little time to rest. There was no doubt in Philip's mind, whatsoever, that once he landed and turned his cell phone back on, there would be a slew of angry phone mail messages from Aunt Emma. . . 

And possibly a few from Nick as well. Derek would keep his own counsel, as would Alex. But Nick. . .oh yes, he would hear in great detail from Nick about how he was betraying them by 'siding' with Ian. On the other hand, Philip was used to Nick being angry with him. Starting with Philip's departure after Ellen's suicide, then Julia's death, then Kristen's death. . . oh yes, in the last few years, Nick was angry with him more often than he wasn't. Philip chided himself half-heartedly for not being fair to Nick. . .after all, he was there for Philip during the whole Ravenwood mess. _Yes_, an insidious voice in the back of his mind retorted, _but he's angry with you now not for leaving the Legacy, and therefore him. . .he's angry with you for not abandoning a member of your family._

And that was the rub, wasn't it? Nick hated that he was dropping everything to go to his cousin's aid. . .his cousin, who broke the law and stole the Declaration of Independence. And yet, Nick's brother. . .his father. . .committed crimes of their own. Especially his father, who abused his wife and children, then hid behind the rationale that he was doing it to make his sons stronger. Philip abruptly stopped that train of thought. It would led nowhere, and siphon away much needed energy. . .energy that he would need to deal with his cousin's grief and guilt and terror. There was no doubt, whatsoever, in Philip's mind that Ian was terrified.

How could he not be? For all his crimes, Ian wasn't a man who enjoyed causing suffering to others. And Philip's instincts told him that Cam and Annie were taken as a means to strike at Ian. _If I'm right_, the priest thought, _things will get worse before they get better. We don't know exactly why Cam and Annie were taken. We don't know exactly what kind of people have them. But this I do know. If Cam even suspects that Annie's in danger, he'll take any and all actions he thinks is appropriate under the circumstances._

People often made the mistake of underestimating Cam. They made the mistake of thinking that he was a doormat. And that was a huge mistake. Cam was certainly more easy-going than his older brother, who could sometimes be impulsive. (All right, admittedly, 'sometimes' and 'impulsive' were giant understatements) But he didn't tolerate threats against his family, of any kind. There was no doubt in Philip's mind that Cam would fight back if someone tried to hurt Annie. And he didn't let fear of reprisals stop him from protecting his family. In that respect, he was a great deal like Ian.

Philip smiled a little. When the Callaghan boys visited Uncle Joseph and Aunt Linda, Ian often appointed himself as Philip's protector. Michael was uninterested in his younger brother, and instead, spent most of his time flirting with the English girls. But Ian, who was only three years older than Philip, stood up to the local bullies who didn't like the young Irish boy. He wasn't a big kid. . .as adults, he and Philip stood at the same height. But he wasn't afraid of the bullies. . .and he was smarter than they were.

Even if Philip hadn't become a priest, he would have gone to support Ian now. For that alone, for his kindness to his young Irish cousin, Ian deserved his trust and his support. But there were other things. Years earlier, after Michael was killed in that bomb blast, Ian had dropped everything to make sure Philip was all right, once he heard about Michael's death. Oh, Philip learned later that Ian was drowning in his own grief. . .it was right around the time of Annie's first birthday. . .and his cousin was probably trying to shut out his pain. But it meant a lot to Philip, Ian's quiet presence at his side. It meant even more that Ian asked nothing of him in return.

Philip closed his eyes, remembering that meeting. He had just arrived in England from San Francisco, only days after the conclusion of the tribunal. The day after his arrival in Yorkshire, he received a call from Ian. His cousin just heard about Michael's death. . .would Philip like some company? He would. He told Ian where he was staying, and early the next morning, he found his cousin on his doorstep. The two regarded each other, then Ian opened his arms. Philip collapsed against his cousin, and simply wept.

It was the first time he had the chance to cry for his brother, and for the five children who would grow up without their da. The first chance he had to cry for his sister-in-law, who was young and beautiful and a widow. And Ian. . .his wild, reckless, impulsive cousin. . .just held him. Philip had been the source of strength for his sister-in-law, for his nieces and nephews. He tried to help Derek and the Legacy, not just once, but twice. And for the first time since Michael's death, someone else was being strong for him. No useless platitudes. Just. . .being there.

Eventually, Ian made his way inside, and settled Philip into a chair. Even now, years later, that made Philip smile. How his cousin came in, and took care of him. He even made tea. Not because either of them liked the stuff, but because it was something he could do. Something that would calm him, and soothe Philip. His wild cousin could be breathtakingly gentle, under the right circumstances. As he worked, he spoke of nonsense. Or rather, Philip remembered very little that made sense. . .perhaps that was a better way of saying things. Finally, he sat down in the chair opposite Philip, leaned back, and said quietly, "Tell me."

He did. It all poured out of him. The rage, the anguish, the bitterness, the grief, the despair. He was still struggling with his crisis of faith. And Ian simply listened. Never said a word. Never judged. Just sat there, and listened. And when Philip ran out of words, Ian began talking. He talked about Michael's prank with the green food coloring and the shampoo, when Ian was thirteen. Philip remembered that shocked a laugh out of him, because Michael never told him how he pulled off that particular prank. Probably because he was afraid Philip might do the exact same thing to him!

And he would have, once he reached the rebellious teenager point. Ian knew this as well. With a laugh, he told Philip about some of the pranks which he pulled on Michael, and how Ian saved up the details of every prank on both sides, so he could tell Philip. At the time of the green-hair prank, as Ian called it, Philip was a shy ten year old who worshipped his big brother, even when Michael didn't have time for him. However, Ian was quite certain that there would come a time when Philip would change, and he was ready for that.

By the time Philip hit that stage, however, Ian's parents were dead, and the English teen was heading out of control himself. Neither man talked about that, however. Instead, Philip finally recognized that his cousin's green eyes were haunted. Feeling more than a little guilty for indulging himself over the last few hours, Philip asked him what was troubling him. Ian didn't answer right away. Just stared into his tea cup, as if searching for answers there. Philip waited patiently, somehow sensing that whatever was bothering his cousin, it was big.

And it was. For the first time since he put his treasured Jocelyn on a plane for her native United States, Ian admitted to someone other than one of his men, or his brother, about what he had done. He told Philip everything. From the moment that. . .person. . . attacked Ian and Jocelyn after her doctor's appointment, to the decision he made to protect his unofficial fiancée and their unborn daughter. He left nothing out. . .the deception he used to get her to the airport, the wheelchair Shaw had ready. . .the look of betrayed shock in Jocelyn's eyes when Ian injected the sedative into her.

They were both silent after Ian finished explaining how he stumbled to the lavatory after putting her on the plane, and alternated between retching and weeping. At last, Philip asked softly, "So why now? Why is it taking such a toll on you now? I know you, cousin. I know that you believe you did the right thing, to protect your lover and your child. I also know that it's been eating a hole in your gut ever since. So what's changed? What's different, Ian, why now? What happened?"

Ian raised haunted eyes to Philip and whispered, "Because I kept track of them, after they returned to the States. With help from Shaw. You see. . .just before he returned to England, Shaw made an anonymous phone call to Scotland Yard and the FBI in North Carolina. He told them that the. . .I believe the archaic American term is moll. . .of a jewel thief had just arrived. The FBI assigned Agent Danae Marini to learn what she could from Jocelyn, never banking on the fact that a friendship would develop between them. Through some of my own contacts in Scotland Yard, I found out when my daughter was born. Today is my Annie's first birthday. I should have been with her, Pip. I should have been there to. . ."

His voice trailed off. There was no doubt in Philip's mind that his cousin believed, in his mind, that he did the right thing. But in his heart, he mourned for the loss of his family. And Michael's death only served to devastate him further. For the first time since losing his brother, Philip began to see the light at the end of the tunnel, and the end of his own crisis of faith. When they were children, Ian looked after Philip. Now, he was trying to do the same. . .except this time, it wasn't quite so one-sided. Now, Ian needed Philip just as much as Philip needed Ian. The young priest was determined not to let his cousin down.

That seemed to be a good way of describing his attitude now, more than eight years later. Ian needed him now. Needed him as he never did before. Philip, too, was more determined than ever not to fail his cousin. Either of them. Any of them. He only hoped that Ian's former lover, and Annie's mother, could see past her own terror, grief, and guilt to reach out to Ian. The priest was very certain that before this was all over, Ian would need her more than anyone else.

* * *

She sat beside her daughter's crib, and watched her sleep. She knew that she should be asleep herself. She was so tired, it was hard for her to get from point a to point b in a straight line. And she knew that the morning would bring all sorts of new challenges, and that it was for the best if she slept. But she couldn't sleep. It. . .it eluded her. And so, here she sat, watching her baby daughter, and wondered if she would someday fear for her Betsy with such gut-wrenching terror. They had a state of the art security system, but if someone was determined enough, they could get past that. She could lose her daughter, and it frightened her. 

Abigail didn't understand why Ben couldn't understand what was driving her. He didn't understand, though he supported her, and maybe that was all she had a right to ask. But. . .didn't he understand that if it could happen to a young scholar living quietly in North Carolina and raising her daughter in peace, it could happen to them? Didn't he understand. . .? Abigail shook her head, closing her eyes. As the hours passed since her decision to help Jocelyn Ramsey was made, it became easier and easier to imagine her own daughter taken. After all, she and Ben were internationally-known. Prime targets to have their own child taken for ransom. And they had greater access to their money.

Bad things happened to good people all the time. The little girl who innocently created so much turmoil when she was kidnapped from her home carried her mother's name, not her father's. Not her father's real last name, and not her father's assumed name. Abigail smiled a bit bitterly. And now, she was blaming this mess on the innocent child who. . . No. None of this was Annie's fault. Nor was it her mother's. The only ones to blame were the ones who took her and her uncle. Based on the reports she heard, Ian McDowell changed his last name some twenty years earlier, to protect his younger brother and their aunt. By all rights, Annie Ramsey should have been safe. She should have been sound asleep in her bedroom, in her mother's arms.

But she wasn't, and Betsy was. How could she explain to Ben, her fears for Betsy? When all was said and done, what was to keep some disgruntled person from taking her baby girl? When all was said and done, what separated her from Jocelyn Ramsey? The men they loved? Yes, and that was all. Abigail shook her head once more, and lifted her daughter up from her crib, settling her gently against her chest. Betsy stirred a little, but didn't wake up. The archivist pressed a soft kiss to the baby's forehead, rocking her back and forth. But for a cruel twist of fate, it could have been her wondering if she would ever see her little girl again.

"I woke up, and you were gone."

Abigail didn't even bother turning her head. Just replied, "I couldn't sleep. So, I came to spend time with my baby girl. Because who knows when she'll be taken from me. And children grow up so fast. Too fast, sometimes." There was footfall, then her husband was kneeling at her side, reaching out to stroke Betsy's petal-soft cheek. Ben said nothing for several moments, his breath soft against her hair, and Abigail smiled in spite of herself as memories popped up. Leaning over his father's table, in his father's house, breathing on the back of the Declaration to reveal the next clue.

Then Ben said softly, "This whole case has you riled up, Abigail. It isn't like you. For the last time, tell me why, and please don't give me the same reason as last time." Abigail stiffened, not appreciating the ultimatum, then relaxed, realizing that Ben didn't mean it that way. She really should go to bed. She wasn't even making sense to herself anymore. Ideas were flying through her head that made no sense. Still, she rocked her daughter, taking comfort in the weight of her daughter's body, and the trusting way Betsy rested in her arms. Totally trusting that Abigail would allow nothing to happen to her.

At last, she answered quietly, "It's all wrong, you know. We've international fame. We found the Templar Treasure, have all this money. . .and our daughter is safe in her crib. Peacefully dreaming about whatever babies dream about. While Annie Ramsey, a cute little third grader who lives outside Raleigh, North Carolina, and wants to be a ballerina when she grows up, is. . .isn't in her home, in her bed, with her mother, where she belongs. And why is this happening to her? Because her father made the wrong people angry? Seems to me, that description fits us as well, Ben."

"I don't understand, Abigail. We didn't do anything wrong. Ian did. What happened to his daughter is terrible, but she is suffering for _his_ wrongdoings. Why should our daughter suffer?" Ben asked, obviously confused. Abigail didn't answer immediately. She was trying to sort things through in her own mind before she tried to explain to her husband exactly what she was thinking. The trouble was, she wasn't sure where to start, because. . .nothing made sense.

"Do you remember, Ben, how it was mentioned that Ian changed his name to protect his aunt and his brother all those years ago? Do you remember when the news people got in touch with one of Ian's men in prison, and he explained that Ian sent Jocelyn away before their daughter was born, to protect them both?" she finally asked, and turned her head to look at her husband. When Ben nodded, she continued quietly, even though she wasn't entirely sure what she was getting at, "What makes you so sure that Annie is suffering for Ian's _crimes_? Isn't it possible that someone is hitting back at him because of something good he did?"

Why hadn't that occurred to her before now? She and Ben weren't totally good, after all, so why would Ian be totally bad? She began questioning the 'status quo' after she heard about the extreme actions Ian took to protect his young lover and their unborn child. There were other things. . .the little boy who testified on Ian's behalf at his trial. Oh, and Charles Powell saying, 'I've known Ian Howe for nearly twenty years. Only two things make him angry enough to kill. . .people who have harmed children, and people who betrayed him.'

Abigail knew that she should condemn him for killing or trying to kill even a child abuser, but her heart said otherwise. Especially if he was physically defending a child at the time. Ben said slowly, "Abigail, honey. . .good people don't suffer because of the good they do." Abigail almost rolled her eyes, but contented herself with kissing her daughter's forehead. Surely Ben couldn't be that dense? No, of course not. It was late, and he wasn't thinking. He was probably just as tired as she was, if not more. And she really should be fair to him, since he was the one who first started thinking about Ian after they learned about the little girl's kidnapping.

"Oh, really? How can you say that, when people are harmed because they've tried to help someone? Ben, think! What is Ian's weakness? Forget money for a minute. What's his Achilles heel? Children. Remember what Charles Powell said, about the times when Ian has ousted someone from their team. What would it take for him to reach that point? You saw, just as I did, how loyal he is to them, and how loyal they are to him. What would it take for him to turn against one of them?" Abigail questioned. Ben was staring at her, as if this was something he never considered.

She didn't know why it was so important to her to get her point across. Maybe, it she could get through to Ben about this, the rest of the puzzle would fall into place for him. About why she was so. . .focused on helping Dr. Ramsey. It could have so easily been her. She knew that. And every time she thought about Betsy being the one taken, the relief that it wasn't her daughter caused her throat to ache with guilt. She had to help Jocelyn Ramsey bring her little girl home. She had to.

Altruism had nothing to do with it. Well, not as much as Ben may think, at least. A large part of her determination was. . .well, Abigail felt guilty for her relief, that it wasn't her child who was missing. She felt guilty that she privately thanked God that it was Ian's daughter who was taken, even as she felt compassion for him. Whatever else he had done, he had tried to do right by the woman he loved and their child. The choices he made may have been wrong, but he tried to do right by them, and that had to count for something. Ben said slowly, drawing her attention back to him, "I. . .I never really thought about that possibility."

Well, they were making progress. Abigail answered, her exhaustion finally making itself known, "Neither did I. Not at first. Why should I care? After what Ian did to us, why should I care about his daughter? Then they showed where Annie lives, and I contrasted it with our lives. I got to thinking about that little boy who testified for Ian, and what Powell said about how Ian felt about child abusers. Annie became real for me, the more I heard. They told us about her school. . .that she wants to be a ballerina when she grows up, and before then, she wanted to be a teacher, and before then, she wanted to be an artist. They told us about her friends. How her teachers think she could be anything she sets her mind to, that she's stubborn and determined."

"Sounds like her father," Ben murmured. Abigail smiled in spite of herself. It did. When they mentioned that facet of the child's personality, the first thing Abigail thought was, 'she's Ian's daughter, all right.' And that was when she started wondering about her mother. Jocelyn Ramsey was described as quiet, with a wicked sense of humor, and utterly devoted to her daughter. She wasn't the community welcome wagon, but she was someone who was there if she was needed. The community responded by closing ranks around her, but it was another parent who provided this description. So what did such a woman see in a man like Ian?

Of course, it was possible that she fell in love, not knowing the kind of man he was. But if that was the case, would she have flown to Washington to tell him personally that their daughter had been taken? Abigail didn't think so. More likely, there was more to Ian. And when he knew Jocelyn Ramsey, he was a very different person. One thing led to another, until it occurred to her that Cameron McDowell and Annie Ramsey were taken not to punish Ian for a wrong he committed, but for an attempt to help someone else. . .that ended badly. It was a crazy thought, but. . .so was the Templar Treasure.

"You need to come to bed, Abby. You need to sleep. We'll think about this in the morning. I promise. But right now, you need to rest. If you want to help the Ramsey women, you really need to rest. . .and if you want to make sure our daughter stays safe, you definitely have to rest," Ben said finally. Abigail would have glared at him for playing dirty, but she really was tired. He took Betsy from her arms, then helped her to her feet, and led her from their daughter's room. He tucked her into bed, and before too much longer, Abigail was asleep.

Only seconds after she fell asleep, Abigail was dreaming of a picnic in the rain. Therefore, she never even noticed Ben slipping out of bed to make sure the security system he just installed that morning was armed, and the baby monitor was on in Betsy's nursery.

* * *

Despite crying herself to sleep. . .or maybe because of it, it took Jocelyn a long time to really fall asleep. Her head throbbed, and her throat ached with unshed tears. Eventually, though, she slipped away into a soothing nothingness. At least at first. But her conversation with Danae stirred up old memories, and her dreams took her back to a happier time. She realized, relatively quickly, that her feelings for Ian went far beyond friendship. And like a frightened child, she hid it. She was afraid of losing him. . .afraid that he would turn against her. 

The twenty year old Jocelyn had no reason to trust men, aside from her father. It happened too many times. Someone would realize that she liked them, and they shut her out. Sometimes cruelly. Where Ian was concerned, Jocelyn felt dangerously vulnerable. So. . .she hid. Hid the way her heart sped up when he smiled, or her throat went dry when he touched her. There was one time, she ran over her foot with a shopping cart because of the jolt she felt when he touched her. Fortunately, she was such a klutz at the time, no one really noticed.

She was so good at hiding, that until that fateful day in his flat, when he tickled her mercilessly for implying that he was old, he had no clue how she truly felt about him. Even at her tender age, Jocelyn was already very good at only allowing people to see what she wanted them to see. She often fantasized, of course, about Ian kissing her. She also fantasized about kissing him. All over. But not even in her fantasies could she have guessed how it would feel.

Oddly, with her blood turning to lava in her veins, her bones turning to noodles, and her brain in danger of turning to mush, Jocelyn never felt safer than when she was in Ian's arms. Maybe because he looked as terrified as she felt. . .and that was when she knew that he would never hurt her, not willingly. Jocelyn lay in his arms, staring up at him, even working up the courage to slide her fingers through his blond hair. God, he was so beautiful. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

After those searing kisses (Ian later told her that the kisses were searing, actually), a few more kisses were exchanged, but for the most part, they simply lay there together. Ian was still coming to grips with this new wrinkle, so to speak, and she was content to just curl up in his arms. She actually fell asleep, curled up against his side, her head resting on his chest, with one arm thrown across his waist. It was, she realized much later, a proprietary gesture. This man was hers. Maybe he didn't realize it yet, but she staked her claim, and he belonged to her.

It took another few months before they made love. This time, because of a near miss. Over the span of several weeks, Ian began withdrawing from her. It was near the end of the semester, so Jocelyn didn't notice at first. Once she did notice, she was devastated. This was her first relationship, and she had no idea what was happening. Her Welsh flat mate, Lily, was several years older than Jocelyn and much more experienced. She explained that in her opinion, Ian was distancing himself from her not because he didn't care about her any more. . .but because he realized he had fallen in love with her, and wanted to take her to bed.

Jocelyn was dubious, but Lily persisted. She asked a series of questions which made Jocelyn slowly come around to her point of view. Or, at the very least, Jocelyn couldn't answer without acknowledging Lily's points. At last, Jocelyn asked plaintively what she could do. Lily smiled and. . . Well, the rest, as they said, was history. Jocelyn took Lily's advice, down to the new outfit, and went to Ian's flat. Rather, she called Shaw, who picked her up and took her to Ian's flat.

Lily and Shaw. She could have never done it without them. Lily steered her to the correct path, and Shaw helped her finish the job. He told her everything she needed to know. And he kept her company until an hour before Ian was due home. Shaw would be back in the morning, with the boys. He smiled and kissed her forehead, adding, "And by that time, lass, I expect you to be my sister-in-law. . .unofficially speaking." He smiled again, then left her alone.

About forty-five minutes later, Ian returned. Jocelyn reclined on his bed, half-asleep, when the headlights woke her up. The front door opened and closed, and she heard Ian mumbling under his breath. Jocelyn smiled to herself. Sounded like the meeting went badly. He only did that when he was really frustrated. She propped herself up on her elbows, so the first thing he saw when he entered his bedroom. . .was her.

And it worked. Oh, did it work! She took all the choices from him. No more running, no more hiding. By the end of the night, Ian was hers. And a wondrous night it was. Perhaps it would have been bad if she was with someone her own age, but Ian was ten years older, and no girl could have had a more sensitive first lover. He was. . .well, even years later, the memory of that first night together made her feel warm all over.

She woke up with tears on her face, and the sound of the shower running. Jocelyn ran her hand over her eyes, inadvertently smearing the tears, but she didn't really care. She would take her shower once Danae was finished, and she would wash her face then. Until that time. . . Jocelyn just lay back, sighing quietly. Over the last few days, more and more reminders of her years with Ian cropped up. They appeared every time she showered. On her way to the airport, several days ago, she heard a song from the early 1990's, and she almost broke down crying, because it was yet another reminder of Ian.

Then again, music was always such a strong part of her life with Ian. Even songs that weren't popular when they were together drummed up memories for her. Even songs that he didn't like or never heard. '_I See You in Everyone_' was a song by Survivor in the late eighties and early nineties, and it summed up the situation rather nicely. Jocelyn caught her breath every time she saw a tall man with blond hair, even if it was the wrong shade. Ian's hair was a darker shade of blond when it was shorter, she discovered when she went through old pictures of him. He hated that, she remembered. It never failed to amuse her, how her drop-dead gorgeous lover was so uncomfortable with seeing pictures of himself. Much more than she was, about seeing her own pictures, and she wasn't nearly as attractive as Ian.

For the first time, Jocelyn wondered about that particular attribute. . .wondered why, when he was so attractive, that Ian was uncomfortable with mirrors and pictures of himself. She never questioned that while they were together. . .just accepted it as part of him, and loved him all the more for his lack of vanity. She would have to consider that possibility a little more. However, it would have to wait until later, because the bathroom door opened and Danae emerged in a cloud of steam.

Her fear for her daughter and unease about her former lover disappeared for a few minutes as she watched her best friend. Danae's long black hair was wrapped in a towel, and the other towel was worn around her waist. It took several moments for the steam to dissipate. Jocelyn virtuously refrained from teasing Danae about that cliché, and instead just smiled when Danae said, "Oh, good, you're up. . .I was starting to worry that I might have to wake you."

"Yeah, I just bet. Did you leave any warm water for me?" Jocelyn teased, and ducked when Danae threw her nightgown from the previous night at her. It sailed neatly over her head, landing on the bed behind her feet. Jocelyn just smirked, adding, "Oh, c'mon, your aim is better than that! Everyone in the agency knows you're the go-to girl when you want someone dunked in the dunking booth!" Danae's eyes narrowed, but Jocelyn just laughed again and rolled out of bed. It really was a lot of fun. . .she needed to start her mornings like this more often. The trouble was, the only other person who played the game the way Danae did. . .was Ian.

"Get your pale, scrawny butt into the shower, Jocelyn, before I dump you in fully clothed!" Danae retorted, her lips quivering with barely suppressed laughter. Jocelyn offered her a cheeky grin. Oh, she missed this banter! She hadn't realized how much she missed this! Annie always. . . And then, it all returned to her, full force. Her smile died, and it tasted like ash in her mouth. Annie. Her little girl was missing, and she was. . . Danae said softly, "Don't go there, Josie. You're allowed to smile and laugh. You need to, if you wanna keep up your strength."

"It's just. . ." Jocelyn began. She hesitated to say what came next, because she knew that her daughter wasn't really alone. Cam was with her, but. . .but Cam was her uncle, not her father or her mother. It just wasn't the same. Jocelyn finished, "I can't help feeling like I'm betraying her, if I laugh or smile at anything. Even bantering the way we do, the way that always makes her laugh. . .it feels wrong."

Danae was in front of her almost immediately, saying softly, "I know that, amica. But just remember. . .you can still laugh and remember good things when you lose a family member. That's what wakes are for, right?" When Jocelyn nodded, Danae continued, "Annie isn't dead." Yes, but how did she know that? Danae must have read her expression, for she added in a determined tone, "Logically, I know she may be. But I refuse to believe that. Annie is alive, and she'll come home to us. If you shut down the laughter, you'll be insane before she comes home. You need to laugh, to maintain your sanity. Because when Annie comes home, she'll need you. . .whole and sane."

Jocelyn exhaled slowly, then said, "In my mind, I know you're right. You're absolutely right. But in my heart. . .in my heart, it's something else entirely. Danae. . .I can't do this by myself. I'm not strong enough. If it was just me, that would be one thing, but. . . When he gets out, Ian will need my strength as well as his own. He'll blame himself. I know him, I know the way his mind works. The way his heart works." Ignoring the way she was dripping on the carpet, Danae cupped her face in her hands.

"That's why you have me, amica. When your own strength runs out, you'll have mine. Not just me, because there are other people who are ready to be there for you. But me? Whether you need me to be an FBI agent, or your best friend, it doesn't matter. I'm there. All right?" the agent asked. Jocelyn nodded slowly, and Danae smiled, saying, "Good girl. Now go get your shower!" Jocelyn rolled her eyes, but did what she was told. Because when all was said and done, her friend was right. . .and they had a lot of work to do today.

She slipped into the bathroom, grateful that she remembered to leave out her underclothes the night before. It was one way she maintained control over her life, even when everything else was out of control. Setting out clothes for the following day, making sure she was organized. Of course, her own bedroom looked like a typhoon hit it, but when it came to being organized, especially for work, she was almost a control freak. Her co-workers often teased her about how orderly her desk was. On the other hand, her cousin Pauline often said that it was a result of the chaos in her early life. . .especially after the accident. There were times when Jocelyn wondered if her cousin was psychic or just knew people very well.

The shower took no more than twenty minutes. . .the soaping and rinsing was practically automatic. Fortunately, the memories of taking showers with Ian decided to remain dormant. A very good thing, as she had enough problems right now, without adding a reawakening libido to them. Those particular memories were packed neatly away, and she rarely, if ever, thought about their particular version of 'coming clean.' It was better not to. Those memories tended to be extremely potent and extremely painful. Along with the memory of washing Ian's hair after he messed up his shoulder while rough-housing with the lads.

Once she was soaped and rinsed, she dried off, then applied her deodorant. Jocelyn eyed the rest of her toiletries, trying to decide if she should wear perfume or not. After a moment, she made the decision against it. Perfume implied something she didn't want implied. Besides, if her deodorant, body wash, and shampoo wasn't good enough, she had far worse problems. Then told her mind firmly to shut up when it reminded her that Ian loved it when she wore perfume. She wasn't doing this for Ian, she was trying to make a good impression on Andrew Mueller. _Which means you are doing it for Ian_, her traitorous heart pointed out.

Jocelyn merely glared at her reflection, then deliberately turned her back on it. She dressed quickly, before wrapping one towel around her body, and the other was draped around her neck. So much for being organized. . .she just realized that she didn't lay out her outfit for today. Blueh! _Idiot! Airhead! Nitwit_! Well, there was no help for it. She went to the array of outfits. . .not a huge selection. Then again, dining with a bigwig like Andrew Mueller never occurred to her when she was packing for this particular trip. _Bloody hell. . .bloody, bloody hell_!

It wasn't too long before Danae was saying that as well, because over the space of twenty minutes, Jocelyn changed her outfit no less than three times. She really couldn't help herself. She was actually in danger of becoming a nervous wreck, and she really, really, _really_ didn't want to give Mr. Mueller the wrong impression of her. The third time she changed, Danae demanded that she stick with that outfit. She would have anyhow. She ran out of nice outfits to wear to lunch with a high-powered Justice Department type person.

Satisfied with the sleeveless multi-brown blouse and oatmeal-colored skirt that was Jocelyn's final choice, Danae dragged her out of the room. They had to pick up Mr. Mueller at the airport, then go out to eat. Danae would stop somewhere for breakfast and pick up a bagel or a Danish or something. Jocelyn was too nervous to eat. She just hoped that her body would accept this betrayal without betraying her in turn. She couldn't eat. The idea of food made her sick, and she knew she would eat later. Just as long as she didn't collapse from lack of food.

The two roommates made their way downstairs to the car Danae rented when she arrived in Washington DC. She took a taxi to the prison, for her own reasons, but they needed the car for this. Jocelyn, organized? It never even occurred to her, to rent a car. Well, part of it was a total lack of organization, and the other part was, she absolutely hated driving in Washington DC. She had no problem with driving in Raleigh, or in Fayetteville, when she headed to the more southern city. But DC? Not a chance.

And the screwy thing was, she loved Washington DC. She loved the cherry blossoms, the Mall, the Capitol Building, and the Lincoln Monument. The latter never failed to make her weep. When she was doing the tourist rounds, the Mall, Capitol Building, and Monument were always at the top of her list. . .then she visited the Korean War Memorial, and of course the Wall. The Jefferson Monument was breathtaking as well. Overall, Washington DC was a beautiful city. . .but it was a beautiful city populated with insane traffic. The only time that she would even consider driving in the nation's capital was on a Sunday morning. This was also a nice time to be out and about in New York City.

At her side, Danae muttered under her breath about the traffic, and Jocelyn looked away from the window to favor her friend with a fond smile. Really, what would she do without Danae each time she went through these emotional meltdowns? (And Jocelyn firmly ignored the fact that during the last eight years, she only had three of them. . .always after she had her world turned upside down. . .that was _hardly_ the point)

With that in mind, she said softly, "You know, I should apologize for coming apart like I did." She didn't mean just that morning, after Danae got out of the shower, but the night before, when she found the picture of her and Ian. Danae spared her a brief glance before turning her attention back to the traffic, which was already nasty at this time of the morning. Jocelyn continued, "I don't think it ever occurred to me before, that Ian put that picture in my suitcase before he sent me home. I was too angry. With him, with myself, with Shaw."

"I'd like to hear about Shaw sometime. The papers didn't say much about him, just that he was Ian's enforcer, or thereabouts. While I was at the prison, I could tell Ian blamed himself for Shaw's death, and missed him a great deal," Danae answered as she merged with traffic. There was a pause while she kept her eyes open for whatever she was looking for, then went on, "As for the other thing. You don't have any need to apologize, Josie. It's to be expected, and I did expect it." What did she mean by that? Danae must have sensed her confusion, because the agent continued, "You've been carrying this load alone since Annie and Cam were taken. You're not alone any more. You don't need to carry that load. . .so it's safe for you to fall apart."

"I hadn't thought of that," Jocelyn admitted, once more looking out the window. After a moment, she went on, "It's just that. . .sometimes I feel like you're the one always being strong for me, and I don't do anything but cry on your shoulder. Friendship is a two-way street, Danae, and sometimes I wonder. . .sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't be doing more for you. I mean, even after my meltdown about how we met. . .I still kept leaning on you." Danae said nothing for several moments, but once she found an open space in the desired lane, she finally answered.

"That's typical of you, though, Josie. You do a lot for me, often without thinking. You remember the time when I was dating that loser? I knew you didn't approve of him. Oh, no. You're not nearly as good at hiding your feelings as you think you are, cara. But you did keep your mouth shut, and you did listen. And when I finally saw that pieza de mierda for what he was, you didn't say '_I told you so_,' or gloat in any way. You just parked me at your kitchen table, put Annie in my arms, and. . . You've always been there when I needed you, Josie. I couldn't have asked for anything more, got it?" Danae asked.

"Roger that," Jocelyn deadpanned, and had the satisfaction of seeing Danae smile. The passenger sighed, "I really couldn't have made it through this without you, you know that? I could have never made it through any of it. And you know what the really crazy thing was? You know how, just a minute ago, you were saying that you'd like to hear more about Shaw? The really weird part is, when it finally hit me that it wasn't all a bad dream, that Cam and Annie were really taken. . .that there were really police officers and FBI agents in my house. . .you know what I found myself thinking? _Uh-oh. . .Shaw's gonna have a thing or two to say about this_!"

It freaked her out, thinking that. Up until that time, her thoughts had only been for her daughter, and for Cam. Annie didn't have a condition that required her to take medication, for which she was grateful once more. If her daughter was sick somehow, and didn't have her medicine when she was taken, Jocelyn knew she would have been a basket case. Rephrase. She would have been even more of a basket case than she already was. And she didn't know why she thought that, given that Derek Shaw was dead. It was just there. In her head.

Danae answered, "All right, now you've got me wondering. Tell me more about Shaw. After what you said last night, I'm even more curious." Jocelyn laughed a little. There were so many stories she could tell her best friend about Derek Shaw. What was a good one to start with, what was one that summed up his role in her life with Ian? One that wouldn't make Danae blush. Oh. . .she had the perfect story!

* * *

For once, the plane not only left on schedule, but landed a few minutes early. Andrew Mueller arched his back, trying to work the kinks out, then settled back against his seat once more, while the people around him shifted in their seats, preparing themselves and their companions for deplaning. Back in DC, then. He supposed he could have stayed here, and spoken with Broceliande Carter over the phone, but that really wasn't his style. Besides, he wanted to see how LeeAnn was doing. It was stretching things, ever so slightly, to say that she was his protégée. But he had a lot of interest in her career, and was pleased as punch when she became the director of the Charlotte Field Office three years earlier. 

Besides, he liked the northern Carolina state. He liked Raleigh, Charlotte, and Fayetteville, though he wasn't nearly as familiar with Wilmington. There were other bonuses to his trip south. It gave him a chance to meet some of LeeAnn's staff. Good kids, all of them. Smart and tough, determined. He particularly liked what he saw of Danae Marini, though she left only a short time after her best friend. Andrew supposed she reminded him of his oldest daughter. Not in terms of appearance. . .Christy looked like her mother, rather than like Danae Marini. She was blonde and diminutive, but she had the same fire and the same passion as the young FBI agent.

And there was no doubt in Andrew's mind that if he tried to keep Danae Marini out of this investigation, officially, she would have found a way to be involved on an unofficial basis. Again, that was something his daughter would do, though she worked for the local police department in Virginia. Andrew rose slowly to his feet as the line to disembark began to trickle down, and stretched. As was his habit, he watched the people pass by him. In the first place, he was still a cop at heart, and in the second place, he really enjoyed people watching.

A diminutive figure stopped in front of him and began tugging something out of the overhead compartment. Without really thinking about it, Andrew reached up and heaved the carry-on bag out, sliding it down into the hands of the teenage girl who had been struggling with it. He was rewarded with a quick, shy grin, which he returned, then the girl lugged her bags wearily from the plane. No one else offered to help the girl, and Andrew shook his head. Now the only ones remaining on the plane were himself and the flight attendants. The two young women (Good Lord, were these stewardesses getting younger and younger, or was it him?) smiled and motioned him forward.

Under normal circumstances, he would have insisted on the girls going ahead of him, but he knew it was their job, so he thanked them both and make his way off the plane, offering his thanks to the pilot and co-pilot (damn, they were getting younger too. It was official. He was getting old. Although the ache in his bones should have told him that). He was thanked in turn, and Andrew made his way off the plane. First stop, before he headed to baggage claim and to meet the girls, was the lavatory. He adjusted the strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder, then headed into the men's room. Call him weird, even paranoid, but he really didn't trust the lavatories on airplanes.

Five minutes later, the coffee and orange juice washed out of his system, and his hands once more clean, Andrew was heading to the baggage claim. He told his two. . .partners? Companions? Co-conspirators? He chuckled to himself, deciding that that was probably the best term for his tentative alliance with the pair. The evil twins, as LeeAnn called them. And Andrew was still waiting to hear how, exactly, those two girls got that particular nickname among the agents in the Charlotte office. When he spoke to Danae earlier, he told her that he would meet them in the baggage claim, about half an hour after the plane was scheduled to land.

A quick glance at the board informed him that the luggage was still being unloaded from the plane. Oh yes. He forgot about that part. Why did he always forget about that part? Probably because he always forgot how much he hated flying, and the hassle it created. However, his irritation quickly disappeared, as a woman's voice said, "Mr. Mueller? I'm Agent Danae Marini, and this is Dr. Jocelyn Ramsey." Andrew turned around to find two young women standing side by side. Danae Marini was just as LeeAnn described her. Very tall, at least five eight or five nine, and very attractive. Her dark hair was worn past her shoulders, and her features were catlike. Perhaps even exotic. But her smile was warm and friendly, if a bit wary, as were her dark eyes.

A quick glance, from head to toe, told him that she was dressed in a professional capacity, but comfortably. Reassured by this, Andrew turned his attention to her companion. He had seen Jocelyn Ramsey on the news reports, of course, but she seemed much younger and much smaller in person. She was several inches shorter than Danae, no more than five two or five three. Already, he understood why they were called the sultry siren and the girl next door. In terms of physical appearance, that's exactly what they were. Jocelyn Ramsey looked like someone's little sister, someone's daughter. Which she was, of course. . .but. . . Sometimes, it was easy to forget. Like Danae, Jocelyn was dressed in professional attire, again, taking the muggy Washington DC weather into account.

Perhaps the most surprising thing to him, and it really shouldn't have been, were the dark bruises under her eyes. This was a young woman who didn't get much sleep lately. And she probably ate even less, because it looked to him like she might have lost weight just since her arrival in Washington DC. He couldn't blame her. The poor girl probably couldn't eat, probably felt like there were ashes in her mouth. He smiled at them both and said, "Ladies, I'm pleased to meet you. Let me find my suitcase, and then we'll see what we can do about bringing Ian Howe, and the rest of your family, home."


	9. Both Sides Now

Yes! I'm back! And, I have a very important announcement. . .my niece Sabrina was born on Friday, July 29! She's perfectly healthy and perfectly beautiful, with thick black hair and brown eyes. She was nineteen and a half inches at birth, and weighed seven pounds, fourteen ounces. Did I mention she was beautiful?

Oh, and quick note? The next chapter will definitely be titled, _Bringing Ian Home_.

Reviews:

Silveni: I think this is your first review, for this story. . .need to double-check. Either way, it's very much appreciated. I'll see what I can do about further character development, and adding more depth to the established characters who haven't appeared in the story yet. On the other hand, they are quite insistent on that point already.

Kat: Writing about Danae and Jocelyn's friendship is **fun**! Almost as much fun as the love story of Ian and Jos. Philip has always been a joy to write, regardless of the setting. And I'm glad you like Abigail 2.0-she's cool, isn't she? Hope you're better-rested and your teeth feel better now!

Celebwen Telcontar: Andrew rocks, doesn't he? Ben-he isn't thinking straight right now. On the other hand, he is trying to see things from Abigail's perspective. Sorry about the delay-I had almost the entire chapter written, and then? Zilch. (growls in frustration)

lazaefair: I hope this chapter makes up for the lack of Ian in the last! ; ) Now that the paths are starting to converge, there will be a lot more Ian. A lot more-including some more glimpses of the mischievous boy he was. (Think something along the lines of Boromir teaching Merry and Pippin how to fight in _Fellowship of the Ring_) You are quite welcome-if one person asked about Shaw's part in this, it was likely that other people were thinking the same thing.

Dralx: I'm glad you like my take on Shaw and Ian-they're both a lot of fun to write! I do apologize for the delay in updating. (glares at muses) Exclamation marks are welcome. . .however, caps and flames are another story (not the hockey teams, though. Hockey players are **always **welcome)

Rhivanna: Oh, muzzy days. Gotta hate those. (nods solemnly) I had one of them yesterday. Yeesh. Thankee, me dear-and there is a little more character development in this chapter.

Gin: (smirk) I thought the 'Stupid Questions 101' line might get a few laughs. Ian handling the press would either be vastly amusing or vastly disastrous-equal bet either way. That bit about the food coloring was actually inspired by my oldest nephew. Long story there, but short version is, he dyed his hair blond, but something went wrong, and he ended up with pink hair. At this time, he was the assistant manager at Pizza Hut. . .so, he dyed his hair brown, and ended up with brown, pink-spotted hair. This was even more of a disaster for work, so he next dyed his hair black, and ended up with brown hair. I actually thought about going down the tried and true revenge path, then went, 'nah. No fun that way.' I like doing the unexpected. (evil grin) Things are about to get real interesting!

Mat: Oh my. Where do I start? Maybe that email isn't such a bad idea. ; ) You get a little of the story about Shaw in this chapter. Other chapters will explain more about the times when Jos and Shaw double-teamed Ian. They were real good at that! ; ) Ben does not know that Ian was beaten in jail, but he does find out. His reaction? I'm still working on that. I'll see what I can do about more details regarding the prank-no promises, though. Same with the rough-housing, though Powell may talk about that once he gets into the story. And Shaw would agree-Ian needs him or Jos, which is the other reason he wants Ian and Jos back together. (All right, one of many)

Jen: Yeah, fine-tuning a chapter can be difficult, especially if the character in question is one with whom you're not especially comfortable. Although, Abigail is proving to be easier to write than Riley or Ben.

And now, on with the story!

Part Eight

Both Sides Now

"Ice? Ice, wake up. You got a visitor," a gentle voice murmured, drawing Ian out of the dream world, out of dreams of Jocelyn's lips and touch and smile. The voice drew him back into painful reality. He groaned a little, more from waking up than from the continuing ache in his body. To say nothing of the disappointment of the dream ending. The voice. . .Tiny, his unexpected protector. . .went on, "He says he's your cousin. Philip. He's a priest?" Ian's eyes flew open at that, and he would have bolted upright from pure shock if the tensing of his muscles hadn't warned him that it would be a very, very bad idea.

"Pip?" he asked hoarsely, "Pip's here?" Now he was staring into the eyes of his guardian, who nodded. Tiny looked relieved. . .because Ian was awake? He would figure that out later. Pip was here. Why was Pip here? He didn't know, and he didn't have the chance to ask his cellmate why his cousin was here, in the prison, because Tiny was straightening up and beckoning someone into the infirmary. With a shock, he realized that the other man didn't just mean that Philip was at the prison. . .he was here, now. Not just on his way, but here. Then Philip was stepping inside, and Ian found he couldn't meet his cousin's eyes.

It wasn't just shame at what he had done, and Philip's vocation as a priest. No, there was far more to that than that. For the months he spent in prison, Ian really didn't bother with how he looked. . .except when Jocelyn appeared. But he looked better then than he did now. His hair hadn't been washed since the day of the attack, and it hung in his eyes. At least he received a sponge bath the previous night before everyone went to bed. But even so, his scalp was starting to make him very uncomfortable. Further, he was miserably aware that he was half-naked, and his bruised torso was visible. For some reason, he hadn't noticed the previous day while Danae Marini was here. . .but he was aware of it now. Oh, he was too aware of it!

Maybe because once they became adults, especially after Philip became a priest, it became harder and harder for Ian to hide things from him. His young cousin had an unerring ability to see past whatever subterfuge Ian put up. He smiled inwardly, in spite of himself, because in that respect, he was very much like Jocelyn. Then he heard Philip's footsteps approaching, and his desire to smile faded. Especially after he heard Tiny say a bit awkwardly, "I should head to breakfast. Let you two talk. Take care of him, Father Callaghan."

Tiny's timing couldn't have been worse. He chose now, of all times, to disappear. Ian wanted him to stay. His cousin. . .Philip said nothing as he approached the side of Ian's bed, and Ian, as ever, couldn't keep his mouth shut when he was around his Irish cousin. With more than a trace of bitterness, because he knew both sides of his family entirely too well, he asked, "Come to tell me what a disappointment I am to the family? That my mother and father would be rolling over in their graves if they could see me now?" He was repeating what Aunt Emma told him at the trial, of course.

"Why should I?" Philip asked softly, "You're doin' such a fine job of it yourself." Ian looked up, startled by the utter lack of censure in his cousin's voice, and found only compassion in the familiar blue-gray eyes. Ian swallowed hard. He expected many things, but not compassion. And that made him a fool, because Pip was one of the kindest, most compassionate people he had ever known. Philip continued, "I'm here, cousin, because you need me. Because your little lass has been taken, and so has Cam."

Ian closed his eyes, almost crying as Philip touched his hair tenderly. The McDowell boys, Joseph McDowell's sons or Moira McDowell Callaghan's, weren't especially tactile. Except for Philip, when words failed him. Philip whispered, his voice tender and compassionate, "I'm here, 'cause you need me, cousin. Michael would have been here, if he was alive. And Cam would be here, if he wasn't taken by those demons in human flesh. But I'm here, and I'll not leave 'til your world is right once more."

"That may take some time. Philip. . .I screwed up," Ian rasped out. His cousin's words touched him so deeply, it caused his throat to ache with suppressed emotion. His eyes squeezed shut now to hold back the tears which threatened. Tenderness was his undoing. . .it always was. He could handle challenges. . .hell, he thrived on challenges. But tenderness? Especially tenderness coming from Philip or Jocelyn. . .and wouldn't they make quite the team? Those two could shatter his defenses easily.

And fortunately, his cousin wasn't of a mind to soft-pedal his mistakes. That was more than Ian could have borne. Philip agreed readily, "Aye, you've made a pretty mess, Ian. And I have no doubt that you've had plenty of time t' think about the mistakes ya made, especially most recently. But. . .I'll not judge ya, because I've made mistakes of m' own. Mistakes which resulted in people dyin.' You've done nothin' wrong that can't be made right. And as for Cam and Annie, I want t' make sure ya know this right now. . .you're not t' blame for what's been done. Have you spoke wi' Mistress Annie's mum since this whole mess began?" Ian laughed, then groaned as his ribs protested the motion. Philip added, his voice filled with concern, "Are ya all right? What happened?"

"Four or five of my blockmates decided to jump me in the shower, and use me as a punching bag," Ian answered once he could breathe properly. Now he forced his eyes open, to see his cousin's expression darken. Philip started to say something, but Ian continued, "I don't know what I did. . .for all I know, it could have been as simple as my existence. Jocelyn came here personally to tell me about Cam and Annie." Concern warred with compassion, and Ian shut his eyes once more. He was awake not even fifteen minutes, and he was already exhausted.

"Then I won't ask ya anythin' more. Just. . .tell me what I can do t' help, Ian. I've left Boston. . .and probably infuriated m' former colleagues in San Francisco. I know I've enraged Aunt Emma. I actually cut her off when she called me on the cellular," Philip said quietly. Ian opened his eyes at that. His San Francisco. . .oh. _Oh, bloody hell_! He started to apologize to his cousin, but Pip was a step ahead of him and shaking his head. The dark-haired man told him, sounding almost angry, "Don't apologize. Don't ever apologize t' me. I make m' own choices."

"Did I ever tell you that you're too much like Jocelyn for my peace of mind?" Ian asked wearily. Philip looked at him, obviously startled, then burst out laughing. Ian groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead, and Philip quickly apologized. Once his head stopped throbbing, Ian told his cousin, "Well then. . .tell me the latest. And try not to make me laugh, Pip, my insides feel like a pinball machine when I laugh." Knowing Philip, though, that request would be hard to fulfill. His wry sense of humor was too much like Ian's own not to make him laugh.

* * *

His cousin didn't look good. Not at all. Maybe that was the reason for Philip's overriding desire to reach the prison, before he even checked into his hotel. He wasn't psychic, but over time, Philip learned to trust these feelings he sometimes got. Once his plane landed, he retrieved what little luggage he had, then flagged a taxi down. Aided, no doubt, by his priestly garb. He briefly remembered one case, many years ago, and Nick teasing him about his collar being good for something, then pushed the memory aside resolutely. Those days were gone forever, and right now, his certainty that Ian needed him was growing.

And he was right. He was so terribly, terribly right. Philip tried not to stare at the bruises covering his cousin's face and body. The priest was afraid if he looked too long, a decidedly unpriestly rage would build in his soul. Ian was beaten up in the shower, he said. It was all too easy to imagine the scene. His cousin fighting desperately to protect himself against unfair odds. It was just as easy to imagine the bruises which lay under the wrapping that bound his ribs and eased his breathing. According to the prison warden, who told him only that Ian was in the infirmary, he had a few broken ribs. Philip, who was no stranger to both physical and emotional agony, could only wince as he imagined the beating Ian sustained.

Worse than his injuries, however, was the damage done to his spirit. Philip just wasn't sure if it was because of the kidnapping of his brother and daughter, or overreaching and losing his closest friend. Philip didn't know Derek Shaw very well. . .but he did know that the late enforcer was utterly devoted to Ian. All of his men were, though. All of them would die for him, would kill for him. And he felt the same about him. Thinking of another Derek, Philip wondered if Ian ever kept information about a job from his men, and then claimed to do it because he was protecting them.

Irrelevant. Philip pushed the thought of San Francisco from his mind, and focused on Ian. He did his best to fulfill his cousin's request, and tried not to say anything that would make the injured man laugh. At last, however, talk turned to Annie and Jocelyn. Philip never met Jocelyn Ramsey. He knew, from conversations with both Derek Shaw and Charlie Powell, that she was an American graduate student, working toward her Master's and PhD when she met Ian. She was of English descent on her father's side, and Irish on her mother's (along with a few other things, Charlie confided).

And he knew that Ian adored her. Philip never loved a woman the way his cousin loved Jocelyn. Not even the ill-fated Ellen or the equally ill-fated Kristen. Although, Kristen never asked for his love. She died to protect him, but she never asked more from him than he could give. The irony, of course, was that he could have loved her. In another place, in another time. And it was the grief of the deaths over the deaths of those two women which always colored his conversations with Ian about Jocelyn.

Philip understood, almost immediately, why Ian did what he did. . .he understood the why not just of Ian's decision to send Jocelyn away, but also why he did it the way he did. It wasn't a matter of condoning it or condemning it. The only one who was truly hurt, that he knew of, was Ian. He couldn't speak for Jocelyn or Annie, though Philip knew Annie suffered from not knowing her father. And that brought something else to mind. Philip asked slowly, "Ian? I remember after Michael died. . .how you were tellin' me it was Annie's first birthday." His cousin nodded, and the priest continued, "I also know that you didn't meet your baby girl until she was five years old. Why. . .why did you wait so long t' meet her?"

Ian exhaled slowly, his face tightening with the motion. But he replied quietly, "That's a very long story. . .one that only takes a few minutes to tell." Philip didn't laugh at the contradictory statements. He learned to expect that from his cousin years earlier. Ian went on, "When I sent Jocelyn home to the States, I knew she would hate me for it. She had every right. I used, in her terms, caveman tactics. I did it because I loved her, but at the same time. . .I knew she would have a hard time forgiving me. So. . .I left her alone. Not because I wanted to give her time to cool down, but because I didn't have the courage to face her. I couldn't bear to face her hatred."

That made sense. Philip pointed this out to his cousin, then added, "Still, why didn't you contact her sooner? Why didn't you contact her when Annie was two or three or four? Why when she was five?" Ian closed his eyes and relaxed against the pillows. It wasn't until then, when he relaxed, that Philip realized just how tense his cousin was.

That led to other discoveries. For the first time, the priest allowed himself a good, long look at the blond man. His hair was longer than Philip remembered it. Ian always wore his hair longer than Philip or Michael or Cameron, for reasons of his own. Shorter hair was easier to take care of, but Ian liked it long. Maybe that was Jocelyn's influence again. Personally, Philip thought his cousin should take a few inches off, especially now that he was injured and his mobility was limited. The priest grimaced at the sight of the bruises decorating Ian's body.

This time, he was able to control his temper, though just barely. They worked him over good, these block mates of his. Why? Like Ian himself said, it was anyone's guess. They could have been angry with him because of the Declaration mess. They could have just disliked him for being English. Who knew? The only thing Philip did know was that his cousin might have died, were it not for that behemoth who was here when Philip arrived. . .and he knew one other thing. Something very important about his cousin. There was no way Ian was beaten up because of a crime against a child. If that was the case, Ian would be dead by now.

Philip continued to study the changes in his cousin. He lost a great deal of weight. His bones were more sharply defined under his skin. That was, no doubt, due to the food. Also, it was entirely likely that Ian simply had no desire to eat. Philip could remember how Aunt Linda used to tease her oldest son about how picky he was when it came to eating. When Ian was fourteen, shortly before Uncle Joseph and Aunt Linda were killed, he was a wiry young boy. Looking at him now, nearly thirty years later, Philip could see echoes of that teenager. And that worried him.

What happened to them all? To Cam, to Ian, to Michael, to Philip? When he first realized what happened to his elder cousin, it was after Aunt Norah took Cam to Australia. Philip was struggling through adolescence, thus, he missed his cousin spinning out of control. By the time he realized what happened, it was too late to save Ian from himself. He remembered saying that to his mother a few years after Uncle Joseph and Aunt Linda died, admitting how guilty he felt about not being there for Ian when he was needed, and his mother stopped what she was doing to put her hands on his shoulders and look into his eyes seriously.

'_Now you listen t' me, Philip_,' she told him, '_you're three years younger than Ian. You were only twelve when Joseph and Linda died. You had your own problems; plus, we have the Irish Sea between us. You are not responsible for your cousin's mistakes. I love Ian. . .it breaks m' heart t' see what's become of him. But if anyone other than Ian bears responsibility here, it's the adults in his life. Your father, myself, Norah. Not you. And I don't want you t' ever forget that. You have your burdens t' carry. . .don't try t' take his as well_.'

Philip had no answer to that, he remembered, but letting go of the guilt was harder for him. Maybe that was why he couldn't stay away from troubled youngsters. He liked kids, and they liked him. And sometimes, when he looked at a smart but troubled teenager in his parish, he would see his cousin. Unfair? Perhaps. But if he managed to spare one youngster the road Ian took, then he figured it was worth it in the end. He. . .he was startled when Ian said softly, "I just felt like it was time, I guess. . .time to meet my daughter. I knew from. . .from certain sources that Jocelyn remained in North Carolina. I had business in South Carolina."

Philip nodded. He didn't ask what kind of business. He was told, shortly after Ian was arrested for his part in the Declaration heist (and he had the strangest feeling that there was more to that than he knew), that Ian stayed out of trouble for ten years. There was no doubt in his mind that the business in South Carolina was of the legitimate variety. Thinking back to what just occurred to him, about the Declaration heist, Philip asked slowly, "And what of your most recent mess, then? Did the newspapers report everythin,' Ian? Or is there more?"

His instinct was proven correct when Ian replied softly, looking exhausted by now, "It doesn't matter, Pip. Consequences and actions. Let it go." Philip's eyes narrowed at that, but he said nothing. He was right, then. Ian was asking him to let this go. That meant there was more going on than he knew. What exactly that meant, he wasn't sure, but he wouldn't let go. Oh, he wouldn't ask Ian anything more. . .but Ian wasn't the only person involved. There was more to this situation. . .and he would find out the rest of the story. He learned a few things from Derek Rayne, but Philip Callaghan had his own obstinate streak. It often came out when the people he loved most in the world needed him. And right now, Ian needed him.

* * *

On the way to the restaurant, Agent Marini did most of the talking, telling him stories about her honorary niece, Annie. That was fine with Andrew Mueller, as it gave him time not only to unwind from the flight, but to observe both of his companions. Agent Marini was driving, which gave him an opportunity to study her more closely. . .and Dr. Ramsey was sitting quietly in the back seat, staring out the window at nothing in particular. That was a prime time to observe as well. She was leaning against the door, her elbow propped up against the base of the window. Her fingers were twisting in her hair, her face set in a worried frown.

He had a great deal of work to do with this one. The hardest thing for any parent to accept was that they couldn't be with their children twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. True enough, the young mother was at work when her daughter was kidnapped, but based on the most recent updates from the agents on the case, it seemed extremely likely that only luck kept the bad guys from kidnapping Jocelyn as well. He would tell her that as well, and perhaps that would help her to understand. The only bad guys here were the ones who kidnapped her daughter and Dr. McDowell.

Andrew wondered what she was like, twelve years earlier when she first met Ian Howe, or Ian McDowell. Even now, she was a little on the quiet side, though he was willing to bet that was as much due to the situation as her natural shyness. And she was shy at first, he learned from LeeAnn Carter. It took her time to decide if she could fully trust newcomers. It had to be hell, being forced to trust people she didn't know at all to get her daughter back for her.

_Well_, he thought, _let's see what we can do to change that_. Aloud, he said, "So, Dr. Ramsey. . .I understand you received your Master's and PhD in three years." Her dark head lifted, ever so slightly, just enough to let him know that he had her attention. The official continued, "Yeah, I did a little research on you, when this case first crossed my desk. Only thirty-two years old, and you're already working on your second Master's Degree. Your first Master's was in European History of the Seventeenth Century."

"That's right. I'm getting ready to start on my Master's Degree in North Carolina history. I lived in North Carolina most of my life, and there are things I still don't know about it. And please don't think I'm brilliant, just because I got my MA and PhD in three years. I actually heard about that program from one of my professors, who received his two degrees from the University of Edinburgh, and since my boyfriend was so well-versed in English history, especially, I had plenty of help," the young woman replied with a rueful grin.

"Don't ever play down your intelligence, young lady. Completing a program like that takes smarts, and it takes tenacity. You didn't give up, and that says a lot about you. I have no doubt in my mind that there were days when you came close to quitting," Mueller answered. Jocelyn just looked even more embarrassed, and she shrugged, looking out the window once more. Mueller allowed her a few moments to compose herself, then asked, "How did you meet Ian Howe? I've read the basic report, but I'd like to hear it from your point of view."

"Well, if you know the basic story, you know that I was a typical young adult. More book-learning than common sense. I ended up in an unpleasant part of London, where I ran into trouble. Ian came to my rescue and steered me to a local pub, where he got me calmed down. I, of course, was terrified out of my mind, so it took me a while to settle. He offered to walk me back to my flat, and since I try to avoid making the same mistakes twice, I agreed. Things progressed from there. We became friends, since he would come by and check on me," Jocelyn replied. She was telling Andrew nothing that he didn't already know.

However, rather than call her on it, and make her uncomfortable with him, he replied, "Hell, you're not supposed to have common sense when you're twenty! And it sounds to me that you trying to learn from your mistakes is a sign of some common sense. Besides, you weren't the first innocent abroad who took a few wrong turns in a foreign city. I'm just grateful that Ian was there to keep you safe." Mueller grinned when he heard Agent Marini mutter, 'hear, hear,' beside him. He had a feeling this was an old argument between the two friends.

"Well, I wasn't as innocent as all that. I'd been to Europe before, after all. More than once. After I got better from the second infection, my parents took me to Europe. I think they were afraid if they waited, I'd never see Europe. I scared them pretty badly, I'm afraid, when the mishap with the ride took place. And I'm very grateful that Ian was there to protect me. I don't think I would have lived through the encounter if it wasn't for him. I suppose I started falling in love with him then. I mean, really. . .I was this twenty year old wallflower, and someone as gorgeous as Ian starts paying attention to me. When I was in high school and college, I steered way clear of guys like that. They were trouble, and too many of them saw me as less because I wasn't that pretty," came the reply from the backseat.

At his side, Mueller could hear Danae Marini muttered under her breath in Italian. No doubt, she was frustrated with her friend's statements. Again, she was so much like his Christy, it took his breath away. Danae said, "I've said it before, cara, I'll say it again. And I'll keep saying it. You're just as pretty as any woman, including me, and including the blonde bombshell that Ben Gates married!" Mueller looked at the driver of the car. Her mention of Gates made him wonder if Jocelyn knew the whole truth about the theft of the Declaration.

"Now, now, be nice, Danae. I realize you don't have much use for blondes. . .at least, not of the female variety. . .but sheathe those claws of yours," Jocelyn replied, successfully distracting Mueller from his questions about how much the scholar knew about the Declaration heist. The man looked from one friend to the other, barely suppressing his laughter when Agent Marini made hissing sounds. She was rather good at it, too. The young agent sounded just like the few cats of his acquaintance.

"Trust me, cara, I can do much, much worse!" came the retort. Mueller raised his eyebrows, and glanced over his shoulder at Jocelyn. At the very least, the current conversation was distracting the young woman away from her dark thoughts. Agent Marini continued, "And I mean what I say. You're just as pretty as Abigail Chase Gates, just as pretty as me, just as pretty as any woman I know. And you've just given me another reason to like Ian Howe. Whatever else he did wrong, he was smart to see you for the treasure you are."

The young woman in the backseat turned bright red, and looked down at her hands. It jarred Andrew Mueller once more, to realize that Jocelyn Ramsey already had silver streaks, and she was only thirty-two years old. Still, she could easily pass for someone much younger. The scholar answered, "He was pretty amazing. And for the first few days after I met him, when I wrote about our meetings in my journal, I called him 'Phoebus,' because to me, he was as brilliant as the sun. I think I told you once, that the first time Ian smiled at me, I was pretty much incoherent for an hour after that. Well, it might have been more than that."

Mueller couldn't help himself. He laughed outright. When the two girls looked at him, somewhat surprised at his reaction, he apologized, saying, "Sorry about that, girls. It's just that this whole conversation sounds like the conversations my daughters would have at the dinner table while they were growing up. Come to think of it, their conversations still sound like that." Not surprisingly, Jocelyn turned even redder and started to apologize, but Mueller added, "And please, don't apologize. I enjoy listening to the two of you banter. Maybe that's why some people call you the evil twins."

"I hadn't thought of that, but you have a point. Really, I stopped worrying about it a long time ago. Especially since it really does suit the two of us. And Mr. Mueller, I hope you don't mind, but we're not going anywhere fancy. Special Agent Carter told me that you would be picking up the tab, but Josie tends not to eat much at this time of the day," Agent Marini explained. With another backward glance, Mueller nodded. Yes, he could see that. She was a bit on the petite side. However, he held his tongue. After nearly forty years of marriage, and raising four daughters, he knew how sensitive women could be about their weight, regardless of where they stood on the scale.

"That's fine, Agent Marini. . .and could you please stop calling me 'Mr. Mueller' every time I turn around? My name is 'Andrew,' and you wouldn't be insubordinate if you used it," he chided gently. That drew a laugh from the backseat. Not surprisingly, Agent Marini tilted her head back until she could glance in the rearview mirror. . .then she stuck her tongue out at her best friend. However, Mueller also noticed that she never took her eyes off traffic in front of her. Good. He really didn't want to have an accident.

"Give me time to get used to that. . .so you'll have to call us 'Danae' and 'Jocelyn.' She has a lot of nicknames. 'Jos,' 'Josie.' I don't have any nicknames. . .at least, none that are fit to repeat in mixed company," the black-haired woman replied. Mueller could only laugh again. Yes, from what he heard, Danae Marini was known as something of a ball-buster. He heard something from the backseat, but couldn't make it out. Danae, on the other hand, removed one hand from the steering wheel, balled it up into a fist and shook it at the smaller woman, warning, "I heard that, Jocelyn Patricia!"

"You were meant to. Mr. Mueller. . .Andrew. . .Danae has been telling you half-decent stories about my daughter," Jocelyn Ramsey said. Danae squeaked indignantly at the 'half-decent,' but her friend ignored her and continued, "So I figure it's only fair that I tell you a few stories of my own, especially since you'll be seeing Ian later. I don't know how much you know about the rest of the gang, but they were always good to me. I remember, while I was pregnant with Annie, the guys were absolutely enchanted when they could feel her kick."

Andrew held his tongue, because this was exactly the sort of thing he needed to know. He cast a glance over his shoulder, and saw a sweet, wistful smile appearing on the girl's face, as she continued, "But Shaw. . .and I was telling Danae about this earlier. . .Shaw was the one who was most affected of all. He was this big, bald guy. . .a real tough sort. Right up until you got him with kittens, puppies, and munchkins. He measured all women against his late fiancée Jeannie, who planned to be a veterinarian, and all men against Ian. In the beginning, when Ian and I first became friends, that was the only reason he tolerated me. Because of Ian. Over time, he started liking me for myself. And he was protective of me. So protective."

She fell silent briefly, as if remembering, then continued, "When he found out how my parents died, he swore to me that if the murderers ever got out of jail, and if they came to England for some reason, Shaw would kill them before they could come after me. In my mind, I realized that I should be horrified. . .hell, we're supposed to be civilized, right? But in my heart, I was glad. I was glad, because no matter what happened, I knew that Derek Shaw would always look out for me. And later, for Annie.

"Shaw. . .he pretty much treated men and women the same. You had to earn his respect, but once you did. . . And I'll never forget the look on his face when I took his hand one day, and pressed it against my side, where Annie was resting. This tough guy, who could use his fists as well as a gun, who threatened to kill the murderers of Annie's grandparents. . .was totally flummoxed. Just. . .utterly. . .I don't even know how to explain his expression. I swear Annie recognized his voice, because all of a sudden, she shifted, pressing more into that side. His eyes just lit up, and he promised. . ."

Her voice cracked suddenly, and it was then that Andrew remembered that Derek Shaw was dead. That he would never have the opportunity to carry out the promises he made to the unborn Annie. Her mother regained control of her emotions and said hoarsely, "He promised her that he would always look after her. That when she was old enough to learn, he would teach her how to ride a horse and how to whistle. Anything she wanted to learn, he would teach her, because he was her uncle Derek, and that was what uncles did. He. . ."

Andrew kept his eyes forward, especially after a muffled sob came from the backseat. He didn't know if it was fear for her daughter, or the simple fact that Jocelyn realized she would never see him again. A glance to the side, at Danae Marini, told him that the driver of the car was most likely thinking of Annie. Her jaw was tight, as if she was clenching her teeth, and her lower lip was trembling. There was a deep, shuddering breath behind him, then Jocelyn whispered, "He came to South Carolina, along with the others. Ian wanted them to come. He told me that, before he left with Cam. . .he wanted them to come along, but Derek and Charlie, they told him that he needed to spend time with us alone. That there would be other times. Except, there weren't. Not for Derek. He never got to see her."

Andrew didn't know what to say. He didn't know what Jocelyn believed in, and he really didn't think this was the time to bring that up. He didn't know her well enough to make that decision. At his side, however, was someone who did. Danae Marini said quietly, "That's not entirely true. He sees her, Josie. Just like your parents see you, your parents and your grandparents. Just like my birth parents watch over me. They see. They watch over us. Derek Shaw is watching over Annie now. . .Annie, and Ian, and I'm very sure, based on what you've told me, that he's watching over you as well."

"Do you really believe that?" Jocelyn asked in a husky voice, and now Andrew did look back. She was wiping at her tears, looking embarrassed. He made no comment, just passed his handkerchief back to the young woman, then turned his head back. There was no point in making her feel any more uncomfortable than she already did. She was fighting so hard to keep from falling apart. After a moment, he felt a light tap on his shoulder, and soft linen was pressed into his hand once more.

"Yes, I do. I believe in it, just like I believe in you. They are watching over us. And they're so proud, because I achieved their dreams and my own. They're proud because you never gave up. . .even when the deck was stacked against you. They're proud of Annie, because she must be the best of both parents. They're watching over us, Josie. Your parents, Derek Shaw. . .they've seen Annie. They never got to hold her, and that is terrible. But they do see her," Danae replied with absolute conviction.

"Ian doesn't believe in. . .well, he didn't believe in a higher power. He believed in himself, in his men, and in me. He always said that was all any man needed. I don't know what I believe. On one hand, there's the accident. I should have died. I don't remember much of what happened, Danae, but I read the report, and I should have died. I'm here. . .I can walk. . . and I have a child. The doctors said at first that I would never wake up. . .then they said I would never walk again. . .then they said I would never carry a child full term," Jocelyn replied.

"Just goes to show you what doctors know," Andrew put in. She smiled at him as the driver pulled into a restaurant, and Andrew continued, "And we seem to be at a restaurant I'm unfamiliar with. . .I thought I knew all the restaurants in this particular part of the city." That made both girls laugh, and Andrew sighed, "All right, what did I say this time that's so funny?" By now, he knew that his young companions often broke into giggles when he said something that reminded them of something else.

"Oh, that just sounds like LeeAnn, every time Danae and I find a new restaurant in Charlotte. She made the comment once that she thought she had been to every restaurant in the city. Danae, of course, took that as a challenge. . .and just like Ian, Danae can never turn a challenge. Hmm. My best friend and my ex are alike in more ways than just that one. Wonder what that says about me? Anyhow, Danae couldn't resist. She and I started doing researching-her using the internet and me talking to my friends up in Charlotte-and when I was in town one day on business, I turned up at the field office. . ." Jocelyn said.

"After going through the required security processing, of course. . .this was back in 2002, we should add. . .Jocelyn comes up to the office and offers to take Agent Carter and myself out to lunch. And that's where it began. Every time Jocelyn was in town, whether on business or on personal business. . .we're careful how we use the term 'pleasure' around her. . .the three of us would go out to eat at a new restaurant. She started writing them down. . .her seventy year old mother is the queen mum of their local Red Hats club, and always wants recommendations for good restaurants," Danae put in.

Jocelyn glared at her friend when Danae made reference to the term 'pleasure,' growling, "Not funny, Danae Serenity." Serenity? Andrew glanced at the dark-haired agent, who was now returning the glare full-blast. Oh honestly, these two behaved just like sisters! Jocelyn continued, "The reason for her comment about that is, one of the junior agents. . .you know the sort, I bet. . .they've grown up physically, but when it comes to emotional maturity, they're still in high school?" Oh yes. He encountered those before. Jocelyn explained, "Well, this particular kid made some comments about me not being the sort to appeal to Ian Howe. I'm not sexy enough and uninhibited enough, it seems. Too much self-restraint."

He could just guess what came next. Danae added as she expertly maneuvered the car into a parking space, "Jocelyn was rather put out, and embarrassed him by re-enacting the orgasm scene in '_When Harry Met Sally_.' It took a good six months before the veterans stopped teasing him about it. To this day, he still avoids Josie when she comes in, if he can possibly help it." They were getting out of the car, and Andrew looked at the very surprising young woman. She shrugged, blushing a bit.

"He made me angry. I don't always think when I get angry. And I apologized to LeeAnn, and the other agents, later. Especially for being so unprofessional. But. . .he never did bother me again," Jocelyn admitted with a rueful smile. Andrew barely managed to bite back his own laughter. He wished he could have been there for that particular stunt. Like she said, it was unprofessional, and a bit childish. But you couldn't always handle people like that in a professional manner. It seemed like such restraint only encouraged them to behave badly.

"Then that's all that counts, my ladies. C'mon. I'm looking forward to the story of how you know about this particular place, when you live in Charlotte," he told Danae. She just smiled very evilly, another expression he was beginning to recognize. And then he realized. She went through the FBI Academy in Quantico. . .she probably knew DC as well as he did. Andrew shook his head, smiling himself, and said, "Never mind. I probably already know the answer to that. . .I'll let you guide me with what's good here."

"A reasonable man. I like that. I think we'll get along just fine, don't you, Josie?" Danae asked her best friend with a smug grin. Jocelyn just rolled her eyes, but took the arm proffered to her by Andrew. The senior law enforcement official reminded himself that once he finished lunch, and once he was finished talking with Ian Howe, to give his daughters a call. One at a time. It was a long time since he really talked to his girls, and being around these two made him miss them all the more.

* * *

He was dividing his attention three ways. That was the only way he could take care of the people he loved most. When his soul left his physical body the previous year, he was disappointed to discover that he couldn't do anything. Jeannie loved the movie _Ghost_, found it achingly romantic. How ironic that it turned out to be such a lie. Then again, what else did moviemakers do, but tell beautiful lies? However, he never found that as frustrating as he did now. There was no way to protect Annie physically. . .no way to comfort Jocelyn. No way to be there for Ian, as he had for so many years.

On the other hand, Cameron was now conscious, and Annie was curled up in his arms, sound asleep. She was pressed against his good side. . .which meant that Shaw could leave her alone. A quick check told him that Ian was in good hands, now that his cousin's plane had safely landed and Philip was at the prison. Until everything was settled, Philip and Tiny Masters could take care of Ian together, as a team, whether they realized it or not. This allowed him to observe the brunch-in-progress with Jocelyn, her best friend, and Ian's best chance at being released from prison, Andrew Mueller.

The restaurant suited the evil twins quite well. It was low-key. The approval or disapproval of a dead man didn't mean much, but Shaw thought Jos was a helluva lot more comfortable here than she would have been in some snooty uptown joint. He laughed at himself, realizing for the first time that he used the phraseology Jos would have in that situation. She picked up quite a few English phrases while she was working on her Master's and PhD, but now that he thought about it, they picked up a few phrases from her as well.

And really, knowing what he did of Danae Marini, it didn't surprise him that she chose this restaurant. She was a hungry young FBI rookie when she was assigned to the case that brought her into contact with Jos years earlier. She was ambitious and she was determined. But, and this surprised him greatly, that ambition was tempered with compassion. It wasn't a desire to crack the case which led Danae holding Jocelyn's hand through hours of labor. That wasn't the act of a cop. It was the act of a friend. And whatever else Shaw wasn't, he was a man who valued friendship greatly.

Right now, he listened intently as the teasing begun in the car continued once the orders were placed. Shaw really had to give Danae credit. She watched Jocelyn's face closely, and when it looked like that fear for Annie began to crowd back into her mind, Danae would say something outrageous to distract her. Being afraid wouldn't help anything or anyone. Right now, there was nothing Jos could do, and that was hell for her to take. If she tore at her hair and wept, she would be both bald and crazy. And Annie didn't need a daft mother. Her father was daft enough as it was.

The two were telling Mueller about. . .what exactly were they talking about? Shaw frowned, slightly confused by the direction the conversation took. That was nothing unusual. It was hard enough, keeping track of Jocelyn when she was talking to herself. When she was talking to another woman, forget it. Then again, when she was with Ian, she really didn't have many female friends. Ian was the biggest part of her world. Shaw wondered what Ian would make of the conversations between Jocelyn and her best friend.

He was distracted from that train of thought by the distinct sound of a cell phone. Unless he missed his guess, and he didn't think he did, it was Danae's phone, and it played '_Ride of the Valkyries_.' Of course. For that ball-buster, what else would it be? Still, Shaw's sense of humor appreciated the choice. Danae Marini would have made one helluva Valkyrie. The enforcer grinned to himself, remembering how Ian would roll his eyes in exasperation when Jos played that composition and one of the others would start singing, '_kill da wabbit_.' On the other hand, he had to admit that he grew up watching _Bugs Bunny_ as well.

Hello, what was this? Interested, Shaw noticed the way Danae grimaced, ever so slightly, then excused herself, explaining that it was Special Agent in Charge Carter on the line. Carter? Oh, right. . .Shaw heard something about the Gates family contacting Jos, to offer their help. Yeah. Like he believed that. Jos would make her own decision about meeting with them, but personally, Shaw hoped Danae would go with her and watch her back. He would trust Ben Gates about as far as he could throw him.

On the other hand, what came next would be interesting. He was proven correct as Mueller finally told Jocelyn more of what she needed to know. Like, ohhh, say, the fact that if she hadn't been at work that day, she probably would have been kidnapped as well. He felt badly for her, seeing her expression when that bombshell was dropped. And, true to form, Jocelyn didn't believe it at first. However, Mueller wasn't a fool. He brought that evidence with him. . .or, at the very least, the reports.

On the day of the kidnapping, two utility repairmen were scheduled to fix the fax machines. Jocelyn grimaced, muttering, "Yeah, I remember that." So did Shaw. The damn thing had a bad line connection, and at least seventy-five percent of the faxes sent out during that week. . .never got where they were supposed to go. However, according to Mueller, the men from the contracting business never arrived. They were attacked before they even reached the building. Fortunately, not just for Jocelyn but for the two repairmen, their attackers were, to put it bluntly, inept. One of the men was able to contact their office and warn them.

In turn, the office called building security, notifying them of the situation. It proved to be unnecessary. Ten minutes earlier, the false repairmen had arrived, only to be barred from the building because they lacked the proper identification. The false repairmen had one of two options. A), they could shoot their way into the building and take Jocelyn by force or b) they could avoid attention and figure out another way in. They chose the second option. However, they were again foiled, because Jocelyn was out of the office for a good portion of the day. She was troubleshooting at a small, out of town museum. It was for this reason that she was working overtime that evening, which again complicated the plan.

By the time they formulated a back-up plan, they had been informed that the other half of the kidnapping was complete, and they were to meet at the appointed rendezvous spot. This, Mueller admitted, was conjecture. They really didn't know if the second team was called away, or if they went somewhere else. From what he had learned, they were two-bit hoods who could figure out ways to mess up plans. And usually did. Shaw shook his head in disgust. Amateurs. Nothing but two-bit amateurs.

He also told her that her neighbors noticed that several unfamiliar vehicles that didn't belong in the neighborhood in the weeks leading up to the kidnapping. After this morsel of information was dished out, the pair was quiet for a long time. Then Mueller said in a very gentle voice, "I've told you all this for your protection, Jocelyn. I've told you this, because I want you to understand that this is not your fault. There was nothing you could have done. Now I know. . .I know. . .that you've been playing the 'what-if?' game. That's normal. But you gotta understand. The people ultimately responsible for this situation are the kidnappers."

_Yes_! Now they were getting to the heart of the matter! Mueller allowed those words to sink before he went on, "You need to understand something else. You are Annie's best hope, and you're our best hope of finding her. You know the way she thinks, because you're the one who raised her. You are exactly where you are needed. And Annie isn't alone. Not even close to being alone. I can just see in your eyes that you have a thousand things that you need to say, so say it. And then we can get to work."

Jocelyn took her time in answering, though Shaw already knew what she was thinking. He didn't know if he should hug her or shake her until her teeth rattled. Then he remembered, how silly of him! He couldn't do either! At last, Jos said softly, "I hear things. Things that people don't realize I hear. I'm not sure if I believe them, but what if they're right? They say I brought this on myself and my daughter by falling in love with a criminal. They say that makes me responsible for the fact that my baby girl is missing."

And Mueller's response didn't disappoint. He said firmly, "That's b.s." Jocelyn looked utterly shocked, but the man continued, his voice low, "It is! By the time he met you, Ian Howe was pulling himself out of his old life. And because of you, he finished pulling himself out, which is no small feat!" There was a brief pause while Jocelyn considered this, then Mueller drove the point home, telling her simply, "Besides. You can't control something like that. Trust me. I've tried that, especially with my daughters."

That won him a smile from Jocelyn, and he continued once more, "There's something else you need to understand. Women sometimes stay with men who abuse them, and abuse their children. Sometimes, those women. . .they die. Sometimes, too, those children die. They die before anyone can help them. So, answer this very, very important question for me, Jocelyn. Ian Howe never struck you, did he?" Jocelyn shook her head vehemently, and Mueller went on, "Did he abuse you in any way?"

"Unless you count drugging me to get me on that plane!" Jocelyn retorted, and now it was Shaw's turn to roll his eyes. All right, while he tried to talk Ian out of it, he was just as responsible for that mess as Ian was, and she knew that! Jocelyn added, a little more softly, "That wasn't an abuse of my spirit or my body, but of my trust. He would never do anything to hurt me or Annie, but he did abuse my trust." Damn. How could he argue against that? Shaw was a practical man. He didn't waste his time in futile arguments.

Nor, it seemed, did Andrew Mueller. The man replied, nodding almost wryly, "Not one of his better ideas, no. But the point I'm making is, he cherished you. . .loved you. . .treated you like a queen. Why shouldn't you fall in love with him? No, Jocelyn. The guilty parties here are the ones who kidnapped two people. It's not your fault. . .not Danae's fault. Not even Ian's. Don't fall into the trap of blaming the victim. It is not your fault. Could you have done something more. Maybe. . .maybe not."

There was a silence while Jocelyn absorbed this. Shaw watched her expressions change. Watched her struggling to come to terms with everything she learned over the last few minutes. He wished so much that he could be there with her. After a moment, Mueller continued, "And don't think that this makes you a bad mother. You left your daughter with a responsible adult. This could have happened just as easily at school. And based on the mess of your house, it seems likely that the kidnappers overpowered Dr. McDowell. He fought for her. Just like you would have, if you had been there. If he was overpowered, what makes you think you would have had a chance against them?" Shaw winced at the blunt comment, but the man was right. Cam was six foot one. . .Jocelyn was five foot two. Plus, they were outnumbered. The math was stacked against them. Bad odds, in more ways than one.

Jocelyn said softly, slowly, "He picked her up at school. . .I knew I would be running late, so I called ahead to the school, to let the principal know. I told her. . .gave her a description-told her what to look for. I told him. . .told Cam. . .what the code was, the one I set up with the principal. It was Danae's idea. Just in case. And it was only his second time in picking up Annie at school. After he picked her up, he called me. Just like I asked him to." Her voice was growing hoarse with suppressed emotion.

Any moment now, she would lose control and break down sobbing. Shaw could never stand to see her cry. Never. None of them could. Sometimes, they saw her crying, when she didn't know they were there. Like after she told them about the deaths of her parents. Then, he could comfort her. Now. . .now, it was up to Mueller. He leaned forward and took Jocelyn's right hand, stilling the tremors, saying quietly but firmly, "You did everything within your power to safeguard your daughter. I'm telling you this, not just as a law enforcement official, but as a father. You did all you could to protect her. And you had no way of knowing that men would break in, trash the house, and kidnap Dr. McDowell and your little girl. It probably happened too fast for Annie to even find a place to hide. Do you blame her?"

Jocelyn's dark eyes flashed with anger at this seeming criticism of her little girl. Shaw grinned to himself. _That was a good one_. And Mueller knew it, for he added with a gentle smile, "Then don't blame yourself. Besides, it's a waste of time. We. . .what is it, Agent Marini?" Danae returned to the table, looking downright mutinous. Oh yeah. She knew about Blondie's desire to meet with Jocelyn. And she wasn't real pleased with the idea. Of course, she would want to go with Jos. That was to be expected. And it was what Shaw would have done in her place.

"That was Special Agent in Charge Carter. Josie. . .she got a call from Sadusky. Who in turn got a call from Abigail Chase Gates. She wants to set up a meeting with you. Supposedly, she wants to offer her help to find Annie," Danae said. Jos frowned at the 'supposedly,' and Danae explained, "Let's just say I have reason to distrust Mr and Mrs. Gates. If you agree to meet with her, I wanna be there. . .someone has to be there to watch your back." Unexpectedly, she blushed. . .at least, it was unexpected until Shaw remembered Ian's comment about watching Jocelyn's back. '_Back. . .front. . .legs. . . doesn't matter to me_.'

"Well, I almost always listen to you, Danae. . .but I wanna hear what she has to say, at the very least. I mean, Ian told me that he would be willing even to ask Ben Gates for help, if it brought Annie home. I just don't know what they could do. We agree on that, if nothing else," Jocelyn agreed, her frown remaining thoughtful. After a brief pause, during which time she took a sip of her Coke, she asked, "When and where does she want to meet? Hopefully somewhere public. I trust your instincts."

"She wants to meet with you in about an hour. As to where. . .well, I took the liberty of suggesting the Lincoln Memorial. Mr. Mueller, can we drop you off at the prison on our way?" Danae asked. She was back in professional mode, full force. Shaw thought briefly about what it would have been like, if he was ever someone she arrested. Then decided it was better not to know. He had the sense that she could be real, real dangerous. And dangerous women were far more dangerous than dangerous men.

"No, you girls go along. The Lincoln Memorial is an excellent place for a meeting. I'll call a taxi. It was a pleasure to meet you both. Jocelyn. . .you remember what I told you? Danae, don't worry about the bill. . .like I said, I'll take care of it," Mueller replied. He gave Jocelyn's hand a gentle squeeze. She responded with a weak smile, then disappeared to the ladies' room. Mueller looked at Danae directly, advising in a low voice, "Don't let her out of your sight. The Gates' aren't the only ones you need to worry about."

"Understood. Watch your back, too. Not from Ian. Right now, he's not capable of hurting a fly. But he's not the only one at the prison. Capisce?" Danae asked. Her superior officer nodded his understanding. The pair shook hands, and Shaw had the odd sense that an agreement, a silent agreement, had been reached between the pair. That could be very good. Or very bad, depending on who you talked to. It was very good, indeed, for Annie's family. And it was very, very bad for the ones who had her.

Once Jocelyn returned from the ladies room, looking a little more composed, the two groups parted. Shaw had a decision to make, then. A quick shimmer told him that Annie was still sound asleep and Cam was still watching over her. They were all right for the moment. That left the choice between her parents. Despite his dislike of both Ben Gates and his wife, Shaw didn't really believe that Jos was in any danger from either of them. Least of all with Danae there. Which left Ian.

It wasn't that Shaw believed Mueller would do anything to harm Ian. And he knew Philip wouldn't hurt him, either. But. . .when all was said and done, his first and deepest loyalty was to Ian. Even if Ian didn't need him, he needed to be nearby when the two men from opposite sides of the law confronted one another. He needed to be with Ian. As promised, the man took care of the check with his own credit card (not the government-issued one. That impressed Shaw).

The trip to the prison took no more than a breath for Shaw, though it took the taxi driver the better part of an hour to reach the correctional facility. In short order, Mueller was allowed inside and escorted to the infirmary. Ian was currently asleep, Shaw discovered, having worn himself out by telling Philip the latest and listening to his cousin. Pip was a good lad. Smart. Too nice for his own good in some respects, but Shaw would hardly hold it against him. Right now, he sat in a chair beside Ian's bed, holding Ian's hand between his own two.

Beside him stood Tiny Masters, who once more took up the mantle as Ian's protector. Shaw had to laugh, every time he heard someone call Ian 'Ice.' If only they knew. They never would know, of course, just how wrong they were. Oh, he understood it was due to Ian's distant demeanor and his blond hair. But even so, there was very little about the man that was icy on a personal level. In business, sure. But as a friend. . .even as a boss? No way.

Philip saw Mueller in the doorway and gently released Ian's hand, placing it on the bedside. Shaw smiled to himself as the young priest placed himself protectively in front of his cousin, asking in a guarded tone, "I'm Philip Callaghan, Ian's cousin. . .who are ya?" The kid had no shortage of guts. No matter what his former colleagues thought of him, he had more than enough courage. And evidently, the fed agreed, for he grinned openly at the young priest.

"I'm Andrew Mueller, son. I work with the Department of Justice, and I just came from a meeting with Dr. Jocelyn Ramsey," Mueller told him. Philip just stared at him steadily, not backing down at all. The older man continued, "This is my badge. And I'm here to talk to Ian. That's all I want to do. . .just talk to him. All of us want the same thing, son. . .we want to bring Annie home."

"It's all right, Pip. . .I've been expecting Mr. Mueller," Ian said hoarsely. He grimaced, pressing a hand to his chest, and Philip turned back to his cousin with a worried expression. Their hands wrapped around each other, one seeking strength and the other giving it willingly. Mueller slipped into the room, nodding quietly to Tiny. Ian finally relaxed and rasped out, "I wasn't sure if you would come at all, Mr. Mueller."

"I needed to reassure your lady that she wasn't at fault for your little girl's kidnapping," Mueller replied. Philip shifted to one side, so the two men could face each other. Shaw could see them both just fine, but the kid didn't move because of him. Hell, he would be surprised if Pip could even see him! Mueller added, "And we both know that you're still in love with her. Wouldn't surprise me at all if she was still in love with you. Oh, she's angry right now. . .angry and scared and feeling guilty. But I'm willing to bet it's still there. I've heard from her. . .it's your turn now."


	10. Bringing Ian Home

Yes, I'm back. . .I've had an ugly time of it with writer's block, which eased somewhat when I started my new job (part-time, office assistant at a car dealership). So, here we are with chapter nine, and we finally get the ball rolling with Ian's release, Abigail and Ben meet Jocelyn and Danae, and some interesting revelations come to light.

Reviews:

Kat: Isn't Philip a doll? He and Ian make such good cousins. The more I write these two as family, the more I like it. And yes. . .Jos and Danae are definitely the evil twins. Those two are very well-named. I'm glad you liked the reference to Jos re-enacting the orgasm scene from _When Harry Met Sally_. . .I snickered a good bit myself while writing it. Andrew Mueller just sort of writes himself. Plus, he's not above using his own experiences as a parent to get someone's attention, which is at least half of what he did with Jocelyn.

Celebwen Telcontar: You know, I've actually seen that spelled two different ways, both 'Danaae' and 'Danae.' But yes, the inspiration for it was the mother of Perseus. I've been enthralled by the Greek and Roman myths since I was a child, and later became fascinated with the Egyptian stories as well. Glad you liked seeing things from Shaw's point of view. He's proving to be quite useful in that respect. And Pip. . .Pip has always been so much fun to write. My best friend/evil twin and I worked out what an Irish accent would look like on paper while we were writing fanfic for _Poltergeist: The Legacy_, which is where Philip came from.

Gin: Thank you. . .we're all very happy that Sabrina is with us. My parents just got back from California a few weeks ago, so they finally got to meet their first-born granddaughter. Hopefully, I'll have the chance to meet her as well soon. Oh, my dear Gin. I would probably fall right over if Sean Bean, or any of his characters, ever smiled at me. Forget about being incoherent, I'm not sure if I could remain upright! (laughs) Glad you liked Danae's line about nicknames. . .she sometimes writes herself, and that was certainly the case there. And Shaw. . .he's becoming such a fun character to write. As for Andrew. . .luckily for him, he realized that he had an uphill battle to get through to Jocelyn, so he was prepared.

Silveni: Yup, Ian's freedom is at hand, though he'll be in jail for a short while longer. Mentions of more family will smooth out for a few chapters, until the New Orleans part of Jocelyn's family make their appearance, and that's only two more people.

Mat: Oh, my. Where do I start? Uhm. . .I'll see what I can do about the rough-housing stuff. There will be some, but I'm sure not of the variety you're expecting. (evil grin) And yes. . .I agree totally about cuddling Ian. Shaw is an interesting character. . .as you said, he comes off as cruel or at the very least, callous, in the movie, yet he's always at Ian's side, and is obviously protective of him. And Pip. . .in some ways, he's like that. At times, he seems older than the people around him, but in certain situations, he seems much younger. I'll see what I can do about the interaction between Jos and Ian's team. I think that Ben's first, instinctive reaction would be, 'who did you tick off and how did you do it?' And I hope to have more references to Ian when he was a boy, but it'll depend on what happens.

Part Nine

Bringing Ian Home

"What do you need to know?"

Those were the first words out of Ian Howe's mouth after he told his cousin that the federal agent was expected, and Andrew Mueller smiled in spite of himself. The young priest backed down, but remained at his cousin's side. Loyal. Andrew liked that in family and in friends. He replied, allowing a smile to tease the corners of his mouth, "What makes you think I need to know anything that your lady and her evil twin didn't tell me? I have your file, after all. I know about your past. I know that you avoid using lethal force, and that in all of your years as a thief, you only killed one person. That was ruled to be self-defense. So. What exactly do I need to know about you, that I don't?"

"You haven't asked why yet. Danae Marini asked. Jos asked. Why haven't you asked?" the young man queried. Andrew looked down at his feet, a delay tactic he re-learned from his daughters. They said insanity was inherited. . .that a parent received it from his or her child. It wasn't the only thing parents got from their children. Ian continued, "I mean, I would think that if you were considering the release of a prisoner, even if it was for the purpose of house arrest, you would at least find out the reason he committed the crime in the first place."

"Should it make a difference?" Andrew returned. Ian frowned, but said nothing, allowing Andrew to continue, "Son, I don't give a damn about root causes. Not where adults are concerned. I don't care why you did it. All I care about is this. . .if we get you out, that you won't go after the Gates family or Riley Poole. Can you swear to me, on your daughter's life, on your brother's life, on the life of the woman you still love. . .that you will make no attempt to harm any of those people?"

"Jaysus! M' cousin isn't lookin' for revenge! He just wants his little girl home safely!" Philip Callaghan blurted out, looking utterly appalled. Ian looked up at his cousin, surprised, then reached out to the priest. His hand dropped, however, his face tightening with pain. It was evidently most unlike the younger cousin to blurt things out, or react so strongly. However, that didn't stop him from going forward with his tirade, "Ya said earlier that ya talked t' Jocelyn and t' her best friend! Surely they told ya that Ian wasn't interested in revenge?"

"He needs to hear it from me, Pip. . .calm down. It's all right. Trust me. I've heard worse, from the media, from Aunt Emma. Mr. Mueller. . .I don't know what the word of a thief is worth. But, yes, I'm willing to swear upon my daughter's life that I have no interest in revenge against Ben, Dr. Chase, or Riley Poole. I've already lost too much," the thief answered. Lost. . .oh yes. Of course, how could he have forgotten? Ian lost his second in command and closest friend, Derek Shaw, during the latter part of the treasure hunt. And Andrew was on the point of telling Ian that Abigail Chase was now married to Ben Gates, with a small daughter.

However, Philip had other ideas, snorting, "Oh, aye, Aunt Emma! I was raised t' respect m' elders, but that's the only reason I respect her! The moment she started in about Miss Jocelyn. . ." Ian's eyes narrowed, not from pain, but from anger. Philip added, "Never mind. Ya have m' cousin's promise that he doesn't intend t' harm the great and vaunted Gates family." Ian looked at the priest suspiciously, hearing the same sarcasm that Andrew did in Philip's voice when he mentioned the Gates.

"Let it go, Pip," Ian said quietly. Andrew ignored the man in the bed for the moment, and focused on the dark-haired, upright man. Blue-gray eyes met his own steadily. People would make the mistake of underestimating this man. They always underestimated quiet people. Ian repeated, a hint of desperation now in his voice, "Pip, let it go. I made my mistakes, and nothing can change that." Philip, however, wasn't inclined to back down this time. Ian cajoled, "Pip, if you let this go, I won't ask you what Aunt Emma said about Jocelyn." Both Andrew and Ian could make pretty good guesses, even though Andrew never met the woman in question.

On the other hand. . .Andrew always did like stirring things up. He said, "If your instincts are telling you that there's more to this story than what have been in the papers, Father Callaghan, then your instincts are very good. Your cousin wasn't the only one who stole the Declaration of Independence." As expected, Ian groaned in frustration. He literally flopped back against the bed, eliciting another groan, this time of pain. Rage flashed in the priest's eyes. And just because he could, Andrew continued, "In fact, the people who physically stole it are walking around scot-free. That's why I had to know if your cousin wanted revenge."

An impressive stream of Latin and English curses emerged, as well as something that was likely Irish Gaelic. Andrew couldn't have said for certain, as he had never heard the language in question spoken. Ian just looked at Andrew, his expression pained, and asked, "Do you have any idea what you just unleashed? My cousin is one of the gentlest people you could ever hope to meet. . .right up until the time you get him angry." Yes, Andrew received that distinct impression. That, however, didn't stop him from grinning. Ian shook his head, grimacing a little, and asked, "So why did you do it?"

By this time, the priest was winding down, looking pale and frustrated and worried. Andrew told the blond man, "Because I need to know a few things. Your attempts to keep the truth from your cousin were a brave effort, Ian, but Philip needs to know exactly what happened. While Agent Marini is trying to find your brother and your daughter, and you're watching out for Jocelyn, someone needs to be looking after you. I think your cousin fits the bill. He's ferociously protective of you, and he's willing to look after your friends."

"In other words," a much-calmer Philip said wryly, "ya set me up and I walked right int' yer trap." Andrew merely smiled innocently, and Philip went on, "All right. I'm in. All the way. But I want to know the answer t' a question, Ian, and please don't try t' duck me. I'm yer cousin, and I know ya about as well as yer Jocelyn does." Ian looked at his cousin warily. Andrew understood a moment later, when the priest asked quietly, "Who were ya workin' fer, Ian? And don't tell me, 'no one,' because as wealthy as ya are, ya don't have the resources needed t' pull somethin' like this off."

Andrew looked at Ian quickly, his mind racing. _Of course_. Why hadn't they considered this before? They knew that Ian was the backer for the Gates group, but why did it never occur to Sadusky to check into Ian's finances before the trial? Unless. . .they did. . .and that was a reason why so many of those charges were dropped? Ian was silent, and Andrew said, "Answer the question, son. Your cousin just brought up a real good point. Who were you working for?"

* * *

Abigail Chase Gates wasn't sure what she was expecting as she waited at the Lincoln Memorial for Dr. Jocelyn Ramsey and Agent Danae Marini. In truth, she started becoming nervous the longer she waited. At her request, Ben was in the gift shop. . .hopefully, he wasn't driving the poor clerk insane. . .so she was alone, and the doubts about what she was doing began to creep in. Especially after she found out that Dr. Ramsey wasn't coming alone, that her best friend, Agent Marini, would be accompanying her. 

Abigail didn't regret what she was doing. It was just that. . .she was nervous. Not because of Riley enumerating everything that could go wrong as they sat at the breakfast table. . .and it wasn't because of Agent Sadusky's warnings to her about Jocelyn Ramsey. It was just. . .there. It couldn't be explained. And then there was no time to explain it, for she caught sight of the two friends, ascending the steps, side by side. She pushed off the column where she was watching, and strode forward to meet them. The first thing she noticed was how tall Agent Marini. She was at least five nine, possibly even five ten in the boots she was currently wearing. The second thing she noticed was how tiny her sister-scholar (and mother) was. She couldn't have been any more than five foot two. . . five foot three was pushing it.

"Dr. Ramsey. I'm Abigail Chase Gates. Thank you for coming," Abigail said, extending her hand to the young woman. She didn't know if the pleasantry would be accepted, or if the other woman knew about everything that happened. For the first time, she was seeing things through someone else's eyes. . .and that, she realized, was the source of her nerves. However, Jocelyn Ramsey accepted her hand. Her dark eyes were filled with distrust, but it was a general wariness. . .the sort you almost always found when dealing with a new person.

Danae Marini, however. . .she definitely knew the whole story. The raven-haired agent removed her sunglasses and smirked at Abigail a little. There was no warmth in her eyes, and nor was there a question in Abigail's mind that Agent Marini knew things her best friend didn't. _I know_, her expression said, _I know, and that's why I'm here_. Danae Marini didn't trust her. Well, that was more than fair. Dr. Ramsey said softly, "I have to admit, I don't understand why you asked me to meet you, Dr. Chase."

"Because we have something in common, Dr. Ramsey. Please, call me 'Abigail.' My name is now 'Gates.' I married Ben Gates. . .and we have a small daughter. Betsy," Abigail replied. She fumbled in her pocketbook for a picture of her baby girl, producing it after a moment. The blonde woman handed the picture to her counterpart, who accepted it. A soft smile touched the corners of her mouth, and Abigail continued, "Betsy is just a baby. And I don't know what I would do if she was ever taken. I want to help you. I want you to help you find your little girl."

"And why would you do that, Dr. Chase? Er, excuse me, Dr. Gates. . .but why would you want to do that? I'm sure it hasn't escaped your notice that Annie is also the daughter of Ian Howe," Agent Marini pointed out in a silky voice that would have frightened any sane criminal. She wouldn't say the words outright, but she was letting Abigail know that she wasn't fooled. Well, that was all right. Abigail didn't expect anything else. She was more concerned with Dr. Ramsey's reaction to this.

"Please forgive Danae. . .she's very protective of both Annie and myself. And Cam is a good friend. He always has been. But she raises a very valid point. Why would you want to help Ian Howe's daughter? And more to the point, what exactly do you think you could do?" Dr. Ramsey asked very reasonably as she returned the picture. Abigail was on the point of answering, when the other woman continued, "I mean, you're a scholar, like myself. Unless your husband has some hidden talents that none of us know about. . .I don't see what you could contribute to the effort to find Annie and Cam."

The question was politely worded, but the meaning was clear. '_What can you and your husband do for us that the authorities can't_?' It was a fair question. On the other hand, Abigail really didn't want to tell the brunette just what Ben was capable of doing. She answered, "I'm not sure, either, Dr. Ramsey. I just know that if it was my daughter missing. . .well, I just want to help. In any way, shape, or form that I can. No, criminal justice isn't my field of expertise, but I can answer the phone, and I can create and put up posters." Jocelyn Ramsey nodded thoughtfully, and Abigail went on, "As for Ian. . .whatever he did wrong, that was him. . .his daughter is just an innocent little girl."

"Fair enough. All right. You no doubt know that we're trying to get Ian released from prison, so he can help with the search for Annie's kidnapper. I can't promise that we will be able to completely remove all contact between the two of you, but Ian has sworn that he has no desire for revenge against you or your family. You can take that at face value, because I know for a fact that Ian doesn't do revenge, unless it's for a child. He always regarded revenge as childish. So you don't have anything to worry about," Jocelyn told her.

She paused, then cringed, asking, "Is there a drinking fountain anywhere around here? My throat is drying up again." Agent Marini rolled her eyes and pointed her in the direction of a stand where sodas were being sold. The dark-haired scholar nodded and continued, her voice growing more and more hoarse by the moment, "Thanks. I'll be right back. Danae. . .play nice while I'm gone." This was said with a warning glance to her companion, who assumed what was meant to be an innocent expression. It didn't quite make it, though.

Abigail noticed that as soon as Jocelyn started back down the steps, Agent Marini signaled two men, both in jeans, to follow her. They nodded, almost imperceptibly, then trailed after her. Abigail asked, "A protection detail for her?" The agent nodded, and Abigail asked, sensing there was something very wrong here, "Why? Does the FBI think that Dr. Ramsey is in danger of being kidnapped as well?" She sensed, rather than saw, her husband join them. He had just finished in the gift shop, it seemed.

"There was already an attempt made to kidnap her. I'm not taking the chance on another," Agent Marini said blandly. She smirked again, an expression that Abigail was coming to recognize, and said, "Nice catch, by the way. In not telling Josie just what your dear husband here is capable of doing. Let's see here. . .there's falsifying documents, surveillance, and who can forget that jump? Oh yes. I know a lot about this case. Now. Tell me the truth. Why, exactly, are you offering your help?"

"I told you why. The answer won't change, now that Dr. Ramsey is away, getting something to drink. I have a daughter myself, Agent Marini, and the idea of someone taking her tears my heart out. I can't imagine what Dr. Ramsey has been going through," Abigail replied quietly, stopping Ben's objections with a raised hand. He was on the point of defending her, of defending _them_, but Abigail had everything under control.

"No. You have **no** clue what Josie's going through. Did you know that Ian Howe sent her away, so he could protect her and Annie? Yeah. He sent her away to protect her, because he loves her. Now, heaven knows I don't condone what he did. But a man who is willing to sacrifice his own happiness for the safety of the woman he loves. . .that's gotta count for something. And it does, with me. Now, there's the two of you. . .who would sacrifice the life of a human being for an inanimate object. One that I treasure and revere, to be sure. . .but one that would have survived the fall. Oh, now don't look so surprised! Of course I know. . .I did, after all, talk to more than just Ian. So here's my warning. We're getting Ian out of jail, so he can watch out for Josie. But I'll be watching out for him as well. . .and if you even think of making a move against him, I will see to it that your part in the Declaration heist is splattered across every newspaper and blog in the country, do I make myself clear?" the agent demanded.

Her eyes were burning with fury, and Abigail felt Ben take a step backward, obviously stunned by the waves of hostility from the woman. It was just as well that Riley remained behind at the mansion with Betsy. . .and that her father-in-law wasn't here. However, she nodded, and Agent Marini continued, a malevolent smile appearing. . .malevolent and satisfied, "Good. Because Ian swore on his daughter's life that he wouldn't take revenge against you. . .and now I want the same promise from you. Because we all know that you're just as likely to take revenge as he is. Maybe even more. Never mind that if it wasn't for Ian, you would have given up. I don't have much use for hypocrites. So you can imagine what I think of you."

Now that got Abigail's own ire roused. _Now wait just a damned minute_. . .! But before she could return fire, Jocelyn Ramsey returned, sipping a Coke, the protection detail filing behind her and slipping back into position. She looked around, obviously picking up on the tension. This left Abigail with a choice to make. Did she tell the scholar of her friend's threats? Or let it go? In the end, however, the only choice to make was the second. Telling Jocelyn would do no good, and the whole story would come out. If that happened, Abigail believed, they would have no chance at helping. So, instead, she told Jocelyn, "Welcome back. This is my husband, Ben. We were just talking about the ways we can help. . ." Abigail took note of Marini's surprise. _No, I didn't tell her. . .and now you owe me_, Abigail thought.

* * *

She supposed she was lucky that Mrs. Perfect wouldn't tell Jos everything, but she was damned if she owed the Gates family a blessed thing. Not when it was in their best interests to keep the truth about the Declaration heist from her best friend. . .and there was more where that came from. Nor did she mean to. . .suggest. . .to them that Ian was under her protection. She just decided that a few minutes earlier. And she really didn't plan to refer to her research, but she wanted to make sure that all bases were covered. The truth was, she didn't exactly speak with Ian's men, but she did read the reports. It was part of her job, after all. . .both as an FBI agent and as Josie's best friend, as Annie's honorary aunt. 

She maintained eye contact with Ben Gates as his wife and Josie discussed their children. There was no way Danae could trust either right now, but she also couldn't deny that Josie was relaxing a little bit. Right now, she was talking about Annie, and her eyes were lighting up with laughter and warmth. Neither of the Gates ever met Annie, so they really didn't know just how special she was. How smart she was. . .how imaginative. . .and how ferociously protective she was of her family. Danae had a few stories of her own about her honorary niece, and the times they double-teamed Annie's obstinate mother while Jocelyn was sick, sometimes even pulling Cam into their nefarious plots.

The usually-sensible Josie had a nasty habit of pushing herself even when she was sick. Forcing herself to go to work, when she should be at home. Once she reached her breaking point, it took her a long time to recover. More than once, Danae chided her about it, but Jocelyn always answered wearily, _The world doesn't stop for me being sick. I still have bills to pay, and a daughter to raise, not necessarily in that order_. Danae could hardly argue with that, but Jocelyn also couldn't take care of her daughter if she was flat on her back sick.

So, when Jocelyn couldn't or wouldn't listen to reason, Annie and Danae would join forces to make her take better care of herself. It upset Josie that her daughter was behaving like an adult and it would force her to be sensible. And she would start taking care of herself, things would go smoothly for a year or two, and then Josie would be a ditz again. These airhead spells, as Danae called them, began when Annie started school, for some odd reason. She never quite figured out the why, but it hardly mattered.

What mattered was that Mr. and Mrs. Perfect were getting a picture of Annie that the reporters never bothered to show. There was so much more to her honorary niece than what was shown on the news. Jocelyn was telling them now about the doll which Ian had made for Annie for her fifth birthday. Josephine, Annie called her. . .because her doll had dark hair, just like her mother, and Josephine sounded so similar to Jocelyn. It didn't surprise Danae in the least that Jocelyn brought the doll with her.

Sure enough, her friend removed it from the sometimes-incongruous denim purse she carried with her. Abigail Gates said softly, taking the doll from Josie's hands, "Ian had this made for her? It's beautiful! Ben, look at it! How did he know how to make it like this?" Apparently, the blonde woman knew the historical significance of this doll. . .or at least, this type of doll. She gently ran her fingers over the corn-silk black hair, her smile brightening as she took in the soft arms and legs. Danae was willing to bet Josephine would last longer than any of the rubber and plastic dolls on the market today.

"I told him about it. . .my ancestors came over in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. They weren't rich, by any stretch of the imagination (_in other words_, Danae thought, _they weren't like the Gates_), but they could read and write, and my female ancestors left journals about their childhoods, and about their own children. They explained how the dolls were made. I knew Ian would appreciate reading about it, so I showed him the old journals. Unbeknownst to me, he copied those pages. Turns out that by that time, he was thinking of asking me to marry him, and he wanted to give a similar doll to me on our wedding day," Jocelyn replied, her lower lip quivering ever so slightly.

Now that was something Danae didn't know, never heard about, and her throat tightened. Chase-Gates returned the doll to her, murmuring, "It's beautiful. And you say that it's Annie's favorite doll?" Josie nodded as she accepted Josephine and carefully tucked her back into the large purse. Ducking her head, Danae knew, gave her a few minutes to compose herself. She heard the way Josie's voice began cracking near the end of the story. In a weird sort of way, the story of that intended doll was one of the most romantic things Danae ever heard. Maybe because the doll's history had such meaning for Josie, and it was a remarkably thoughtful idea on Ian's part.

Of course, like every other man Danae ever met, he couldn't keep that up. But no sane woman worth her salt expected that. The blonde scholar said, "You know, one of the first gifts Ben ever gave me was one of George Washington's campaign pins. So odd, the things that our men give us, and yet, they mean so much. Dr. Ramsey, you have no reason in the world to trust us. But believe me when I say. . .I want to help. Anything I can do to help, anything in the world. . .just tell me. I want Annie back with her parents."

Oooh, there were so many ways Danae could think to answer that. However, it wasn't up to her. . .it was up to Annie's mother, and Danae knew that Ian and Josie already discussed this. Josie released a breath slowly, then said, "Well. . .do you have a card? Right now, we don't even have a starting place, really. If I could have your phone number, I could call you when we at least have some leads, or the investigation really begins. They could have taken Cam and Annie to any state in the Union. . .they could have even taken them out of the country. That's assuming. . ." Her voice broke, and Danae mentally filled in the rest of the sentence. _Assuming that Cam and Annie are even still alive._

"Of course. I brought my cards with me, just in case. Lately, I've been working a great deal from home. . .I find I'm not ready to leave Betsy just yet. Maybe I never will be," Dr. Chase-Gates replied. She reached inside her pocketbook once more and Danae watched her warily. She was too much the cop not to be wary. Never mind that there really wasn't enough room to put a gun in that teensy thing. . .that was hardly the point. The point was, you didn't let your guard drop with anyone you barely knew.

The blonde scholar handed one of the embossed cards to Josie, who accepted it, and slipped it inside her own wallet. The two stared at each other awkwardly for a long moment, then Abigail said softly, "I really do hope you find your little girl. She's a beautiful child." A faint, sad smile touched the corners of Josie's mouth, and the other woman reached over to squeeze Josie's hand. Abigail added, "We should get back to our own daughter. Thank you for meeting with us, Dr. Ramsey. I know it wasn't an easy thing for you."

"Thank you for your offer of help. . .I will call you, if there is any way that you can help. Drive safely going home," Josie answered. Abigail Chase-Gates nodded, then took her husband's hand and led him back down the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Ben Gates nodded to Josie, and glared at Danae. The federal agent just looked at him impassively. If he thought that would frighten her, he had no idea what Danae Marini was made of. The raven-haired woman nodded to her protection detail, indicating that at least one of them should make sure that the pair left without incident. Josie asked quietly, "What do you think?"

"Would it surprise you if I said I don't trust them?" Danae asked. Josie smirked a little, leaning against the pillar, and Danae continued, "Right, it would surprise you more if I said that I did trust them. All right. Still. . .I think she's being sincere when she says she wants to help you." _What I want to know_, she added silently, _is what she and her husband get out of this_. She had no doubt whatsoever that the Gates family did want to help Josie and Annie. But they got something out of it. The question was. . .what?

"More than that, I interrupted a lot more than anyone was willing to tell me, when I came back from getting my soda. And is a protection detail really necessary?" Jocelyn asked. _Damn_. She really had to be more careful. Josie shrugged and said, "I noticed them following us when we arrived, and they followed me when I got my soda. You weren't concerned, and I was quite certain that you knew they were there. . .so I figured they had to be a protection detail. Do you really think that's necessary?"

"I don't know. But I'm not willing to take the chance with your life. C'mon. Let's head back to the hotel. You're exhausted, and so am I. I want to check in with the guys in Raleigh and Charlotte, see if we've caught a break yet. Like you told them, we don't have any leads yet, and that worries me. They're still talking to the repairmen who were attacked, trying to get a good description of them," Danae replied. _And then_, she thought, _we find out what's going on with Ian, and if this plan will work_!

* * *

This couldn't be happening. Philip Callaghan found himself in desperate need of a chair after his cousin finished telling the whole story of the Declaration heist, from the moment the Templar Treasure came to Ian's attention, three years earlier. At least Andrew Mueller looked as surprised as Philip felt. The agent from the Justice Department looked absolutely shell-shocked, and after a long moment of silence, he finally said, "Good God, boy. You really stepped in it, didn't you? And your cousin and I are the only ones who know the full story?" 

When Ian nodded wearily, Mueller continued, "What, might I ask, did you tell Jocelyn and Danae when they asked? And I know they did." Well, yes, that was something that Philip hadn't considered yet. What exactly had his cousin told his former lover and her best friend, when they asked? He didn't know either woman, but it sounded reasonable that they would have asked the question. Ian just sighed, closing his eyes briefly. The story took a great deal out of him, and he looked exhausted. Philip was caught between wanting the federal officer to leave, so his cousin could get some rest, and his own desire to hear the rest of this story. Ian had this amazing ability to turn his world inside out. That was one thing that would never change.

"I gave them part of the truth, in both cases. I told Jocelyn that I got in over my head, that things went further than I anticipated. Which they did. That certainly wasn't a lie. I told her that I became obsessed, which I did. I just didn't give her the whole truth. Regardless of what Philip's former boss says, faith does not have need of the whole truth. She doesn't need to know the full story, she sees the result of what happened, and that's the most important thing. And Danae. . .I gave her part of the truth as well. I told her that the treasure hunt. . .I didn't feel so empty any more. Which was also true. Just not the whole truth," Ian replied.

Of course not. Because like most humans, Ian rarely did something for just one reason. He did things for several reasons, and it was anyone's guess which was most important. Mueller sighed, then murmured, "Well, you realize that this leaves me in a nasty bind. I have no way of corroborating your story legally. So, until I can figure out a way to bring this to light, it'll stay between the three of us. I gotta ask you something else, Ian, and it's more curiosity than anything else. How deep were you in?"

_How deep_? Philip didn't understand the question. Ian, however, did. He moved a bit restlessly on the bed, cringing when his ribs protested. At last, he replied, "So deep that I didn't even acknowledge to myself that. . .well, until you asked me, I didn't allow myself to think about the others involved. I forced myself to think like a thief from the moment Ben Gates mentioned the Declaration of Independence. I can just hear you thinking, 'why,' Pip. My original plan was for our associates to study it. However, I knew that Gates would tell everyone he could think of. . .a request from an organization to study it would have set off alarms. That was my gut instinct, and a conversation with my contact confirmed it."

"So, your contact gave his. . .or her. . .go-ahead to your project. And your statement about the alarms indicates that you anticipated Ben Gates escaping from the Charlotte," Mueller observed. Philip barely managed to keep from snorting. That went without saying. If Ian wanted Ben Gates dead, then the other man would be six feet under, or in several thousand pieces scattered across a few continents. Mueller continued, "So, when you encountered Gates in the vaults of the Archives. . ." That was actually several questions, disguised as one.

"I was more surprised to see Gates stealing the Declaration than to see him alive, if that's what you're asking. And yes, my contact gave her go-ahead to the project. By whatever means necessary, she told me. What frightens me now isn't that carte-blanche, but just how easily I slipped into that persona. Jocelyn wouldn't have recognized me, and I know you wouldn't have either, Pip," Ian replied. Philip wasn't so sure of that. He had his share of. . .not being himself over the years, and he wasn't about to judge his cousin for his own foray into that mess.

"Next question," Mueller said, steering the conversation along, "Did your associates provide your lawyer?" Not surprisingly, Ian bobbed his head, and Mueller nodded, murmuring, "Thought as much. So, this organization of yours has a lot of money? Enough money to pay for the best defense attorney in the country?" Again, Ian nodded, and Mueller admitted, "That makes sense, then. Given the original counts of your arrest, and what you were actually convicted on. . .what about the judge?"

"I don't think the judge was bought. I asked my lawyer more or less the same thing after the trial was over, and he told me that she was given all of the information we had. She knew the whole story, and she simply didn't believe that a man as versed in history as Ben Gates wouldn't have known about that part of the ship that would protect him and Riley Poole from the explosion. She also knew that I was just as well-versed in history, so I would have known about that compartment as well. As to the rest of the sentence. Well. I can't very well argue that I didn't do certain things, can I? And our organization has to be very careful. It couldn't be a whitewash," Ian replied.

"Which brings me to the final question," Mueller observed. Ian just raised his eyebrows questioningly, and the older man inquired, "Does Jocelyn know anything about what you've told me? I know that she doesn't know about Gates' part in this. I found that out while talking to her earlier. And she doesn't know about your organization. . .so, to the best of her knowledge, you're the sole guilty party?" Ian nodded, a bit reluctantly, and Mueller asked almost in exasperation, "For the love of God, why?"

"Do you really need to ask that question, Mr. Mueller? You, and Danae, have both commented. . .have observed that I still love Jocelyn. And you're right. I never stopped loving her," Ian answered a bit acerbically. Yes, and what did this have to do with Ian being considered the sole villain of the piece, when there was plenty of blame to go around, Philip would like to know. Ian continued, "It just. . .it wouldn't have changed anything." How could his cousin believe that? It changed everything!

"You don't know that, son. I told you before, that girl still loves you. She's angry with you right now, most definitely, but she still loves you. She's the mother of your child, and she deserves the whole truth from you. Do you really think you're protecting her by keeping the truth from her?" Mueller asked. Unfortunately, Philip thought that was the case. And his gut feeling was confirmed when Ian lowered his eyes. It was insane. It was also totally Ian. Mueller shook his head, sighing, "I don't get you, son, but that doesn't matter."

Philip, however, had more to say on the subject. He told his cousin, "I've mentioned more than once about the sayin' which Derek emblazoned on one of the windows. '_Faith has need of the whole truth_.' It's something that his father used t' say. Turns out Winston Rayne wasn't the great, shinin' warrior fer good that everyone always thought. But the point is, he's wrong. That's the whole point of havin' faith. Faith doesn't have need of the whole truth. But Jocelyn does. If she's t' make the right decisions. . .she has t' know the whole truth."

"I can't do that, Pip!" Ian cried out, sounding almost desperate. He groaned, pressing his hand to his ribs, and Philip moved closer to his cousin. Ian's face was very pale, and his eyes were squeezed shut. The priest put his hand on the other man's shoulder, giving him a focus on something other than the pain. Ian took several deep breaths, then opened his eyes. He stared at Philip, murmuring, "I can't do that. I can't make excuses. Not to her. Never to her." Philip tried to find a way to tell this beloved cousin that it was necessary, that telling her the truth _wasn't_ making an excuse.

"What if telling Jocelyn became necessary? To save her life?" Mueller asked. Philip looked at him quickly, unsure where the federal officer was going with this. He believed that Ian should tell Jocelyn the rest of the truth. . .at the same time, how would it save her life? Mueller smiled at him faintly, mouthing, '_trust me_.' Philip just frowned, but held his tongue. The older man went on, "What if it became necessary for her to learn the truth? Could you tell her then? If it was necessary for her to know, if it was necessary to save Annie?"

"I. . .no, that makes no sense. There's no way that something like that would take place, because that would mean that Ben Gates was a threat of some kind to her. Gates has a lot of flaws, but messing about with kids is really not his style. Look at Riley Poole," came Ian's response.

Well, yes, Philip was thinking the same thing, more or less. However, Mueller had other ideas. He replied, "Gates wasn't the only one involved in the Declaration heist. But we'll leave that alone for now. While we were eating, Agent Marini received a call from Abigail Chase-Gates. It seems the good doctor wants to volunteer her aid. There's a good chance that Jocelyn will find out the truth sometime during the investigation. If you tell her yourself, the alliance will be strained, but it will hold. If it slips out, then Jocelyn's trust will be shattered all over again. Is that what you really want, son?"

Ian closed his eyes again, and Mueller added, his voice gentling, "Just think about that a while. Get some rest. I'll make some calls, sign some paperwork. . .you'll be out of here by tomorrow morning. Father, I can trust you to keep him out of trouble?" Philip nodded, though he couldn't for the life of him figure out whom this man was that he could get Ian out of jail that quickly. Maybe it didn't matter. What mattered was that soon, he wouldn't be alone. Looking after Ian and keeping him out of trouble was a full-time job. He'd need all the help he could get.

* * *

He'd given the boy something to consider. That was all Andrew could ask for. The man shook his head, telling the warden on his way out to keep an eye on Ian until he was released. Make sure the other inmates left him alone. The warden, a good man named 'McCarty,' just frowned, but nodded. He then suggested that Andrew speak to a young inmate named 'Paul,' who seemed to have adopted Ian as a surrogate father. The teenager was in jail for murdering his father. McCarty admitted that he looked out for the kid himself. . .the old man didn't deserve to live, not after molesting his little girl. 

Andrew hated cases like that. He hated any case that involved harm to a child, and he hated cases where. . . Well, cases where he felt like he was on the wrong side by having a kid like Paul arrested. Andrew's own mind went blank every time he thought about someone doing that to one of his daughters or his grandbaby. So. . .he would talk to Paul. See what the boy had to say about Ian. It was likely that he was looking for a surrogate father, like McCarty said, and Ian had proven just how far he would go to protect that which was his.

He found the boy in the library, with the big inmate, Tiny Masters. He nodded to the giant, who eyed him warily. Andrew smiled ruefully to himself. . .yes, he was getting a lot of that lately. But it was the boy who said warily, "Who are you?" Andrew wondered if Ian realized just how loyal some of his allies on the inside were. Tiny Masters. This boy Paul. For that matter, the law enforcement official had to wonder if Ian had any clue of the loyalty he generally inspired. What was it about him that made people like Tiny and Paul so loyal?

He realized he wanted to learn the answer, and to get those answers, he had to be honest with these people. Andrew replied, "My name is Andrew Mueller. I'm with the Department of Justice, and I'm here about getting Ian Howe out of prison so he can help search for his daughter." There was actually far more to it than that now; however, he would leave that alone for now. Paul merely regarded him with still-wary eyes. Well, no one ever said it would be easy, gaining the boy's trust.

"You think you can do that?" Tiny asked. Mueller looked at the tall man. Tanner 'Tiny' Masters. He was in his early thirties, about ten years younger than Ian, and it wouldn't surprise Andrew in the least to find out that he was a bouncer or a pro-wrestler of some kind. He was huge, even to Andrew. The official wasn't a small man, by any stretch of the imagination, but Masters had to be at least six foot seven or eight. He remembered Andre the Giant from the 1970's,when the evil twins were little girls.

Big, big man. Not wise to keep a big man waiting for an answer, even if he was a prisoner and you were a cop. He didn't get to be in his sixties, and to his rank, by being an idiot. Andrew told the pair, "I think we'll have him out of jail by this time tomorrow." Now that got a reaction! Paul and Masters exchanged an excited look, and Andrew asked casually, "So, why's that got you so excited? You look awful pleased, finding out that someone else is getting out of jail. Why?"

"Because. Ice loves his little girl, and he should be out of jail to look for her. Her, and his brother both. Besides, he's not a bad person. It's not like he killed someone. . .or raped a little girl," Paul answered, his eyes darkening. How did you answer something like that? How did you talk to a boy about breaking laws, when his father broke the most sacred of all laws? Did Paul kill his father because of what he had done to Paul's little sister, or because he couldn't forgive himself for failing to protect that child? The boy in front of him was just that. . .a boy. Still a child in so many ways. And yet, not a child at the same time.

Andrew shifted his attention to Masters, who said quietly, "I think the warden and others would tell you that Ice is a model prisoner. He's quiet, keeps to himself until he has a reason not to. The only time you really hear anything from him is when someone insults his lady. . .or when he's asleep." _When he's asleep_? Masters nodded, adding, "He talks in his sleep, especially when he's having a nightmare. And he has quite a few of those. He has nightmares about the treasure hunt, about watching his friend Shaw die, about something happening to his lady or to his little girl."

"You're his cellmate," Andrew observed and Masters nodded. Yes, he remembered hearing something about this man from the warden and other guards when he arrived. The agent continued, "And you're the one who found him after the others beat him up, you found him in the shower." Again, Masters nodded. Mueller asked, "Why did they do it? Do you have any idea?" Masters just eyed him carefully, and Andrew went on a bit impatiently, "Look. I'm on Ian's side here. But if I'm gonna help him, I need information. Why did they do it? Was it because he was English, because he looks after Paul, because he stole the Declaration, or did he help beat up a child molester who slipped through the cracks?"

"None of the above. Ice, he doesn't take part in the beatings when a child abuser comes around. Of course, he also doesn't stop the beatings. He doesn't have much use for people like that. Children are helpless. . .they can't fight back. You wanna know why they did that to him? It was just because they could. Until the day Jocelyn Ramsey showed up to tell Ice that his little girl and brother were missing, Hector Winters and the rest of his scumbags could never get a rise out of Ice's Levis," Masters replied.

Andrew wasn't familiar with the name, but he was familiar with the personality type. Masters continued, "Winters hated that. He hated that even when Ice was mad enough to respond to him, he still managed. . .well, he kept in control. He was always in control, and Winters hated that. So, he took control away from Ice the only way he knew how. By attacking him in the showers, where Ice was the most vulnerable. Me, I keep an eye on Ice. He's always done right by me, in all the time we've shared a cell."

Something occurred to Andrew then, listening to Ian's cellmate, and he asked, "And, just what are you in for?" The big man looked at him, frowning. Andrew explained, "Well, you just told me that Ian was beaten up because his self-control posed a challenge to this Winters' masculinity. And I noticed something else. You carry yourself like a bouncer or a pro wrestler, but you use half-decent grammar. So. . .what did you do, to get in here?" Tiny actually looked uncomfortable with the question. But it seemed like Andrew wasn't the only one who was questioning that.

"Yeah, Tiny. . .I never heard what you did, why you ended up in here. I mean, I killed my old man. . .Ice stole the Declaration. Hey, Mr. . .ah. . .sir, I heard a rumor going around that Ice wasn't the only one who stole the Declaration of Independence. Is that true?" Paul asked. Damn. . .it wasn't necessarily a bad thing that Paul heard about those rumors, but it did make his life a little more complicated. If people were thinking that there was someone else involved, questions would be asked, and he knew for a fact that Ian wasn't ready to answer those questions.

"Involuntary manslaughter," Tiny said suddenly. The agent and the boy looked at him, and the big man continued, "I'm in for involuntary manslaughter. I accidentally killed a man." Paul was on the verge of asking another question, but Andrew could tell that the giant was uncomfortable with the subject. He supposed that he couldn't blame him. Tiny went on, "We should let Mr. Mueller go, kid, if we want Ice to get out of jail." Paul started, then nodded. Andrew's curiosity was piqued. Well, that was rather interesting. However, Tiny was also quite right. He had a lot of work to do.

"That's true, I should be going. I would really like to have Mr. Howe out of prison by the end of business tomorrow," Andrew replied. He paused, trying to decide how much he should tell the pair. He knew all too well how quickly word got around in a prison. After a moment, listening to the gut instinct that told him the pair would keep the secret, he went on, "There's a chance that he'll be needed to physically protect Dr. Ramsey. Mr. Masters, look after young Paul, if you would." Masters nodded his agreement. Andrew patted the boy's shoulder, leaving the room. But before he left the prison, he had one more appointment to keep. _And_, he thought, _this is likely to be important to the Ramsey-Howe investigation._

It involved a short conversation with the warden about the injuries Ian sustained during the attack in the shower. The warden had even more information than Andrew dared to hope. Which was a good thing. It was a very good thing. He cringed to himself. Martha Stewart annoyed him beyond all imagination, but his wife liked her. Andrew mentally added something else to the list of things he needed to do once he left. . .and that list was ever-growing.

* * *

There was dead silence in the infirmary after Andrew Mueller left. With the departure of the federal agent, Ian had slumped back against his pillows, utterly exhausted. His chest, gut, and ribs all ached, and his head didn't feel much better. That was two trying conversations in one day, and with the way his luck was running, there would be a third. That wasn't in question. What Ian did question was who would be the third. . .Jocelyn? Danae? Someone else. He was wrong on all counts, though that shouldn't have surprised him. 

"Ya weren't going to tell me, were ya?" Philip asked very quietly. Ian opened his eyes to look at his cousin, his nerves growing raw at the tone in his cousin's voice. Philip was, not to put too fine a point on things, thoroughly pissed. . .and he was using the term in the American way, rather than the English. He really should have expected this, and he suppose he did. He just wished that he could have waited until later before dealing with this particular fallout. Philip was gentle. . .and that made his temper all the more devastating.

"It's irrelevant, Pip. I screwed up. I got caught. I paid the price. . .in more ways than one. What else is there to say?" Ian asked wearily, rubbing his hand back and forth across his forehead. Of course, he wouldn't get off that easily. Not with Philip. Another way he and Jocelyn were similar. He smiled in spite of himself, careful to keep the smile to himself, for the sake of his own health. Probably not a good idea to have Philip and Jocelyn in the same room. Unless, of course, it was also the same room as Riley Poole. Riley could try the patience of a saint. . .something Ian never claimed to be.

"What else is there t' say? What else is there. . .Ian!" Philip yelped. Ian winced. Oooh, that hurt his head. However, his cousin didn't seem inclined toward sympathy, so he held his tongue. The younger man shook his head and continued with a warning, "There is far more t' this whole Declaration heist than ya've told anyone, including the mother of yer child! She doesn't know, does she? She doesn't know that Gates stole it as well, and she most certainly doesn't know that. . . Ian. Ya can't do this. Not t' her, and not t' me. I've not even met the lass, and I already know that she won't take it kindly, ya keepin' secrets from her." Well, he was right about that. The trouble was. . .

"No, she won't. But I won't tell her, and neither will you, because in the end, it will just distract her," Ian warned his cousin. Philip's brows were in danger of connecting with his hairline, and the blond man continued, "I'm serious. She needs to focus on Annie, because if she gets distracted, she'll never forgive herself. That's the way she is." Philip looked down at his feet for a moment, then looked back at Ian, and the expression in the blue-gray eyes took the former thief aback. Philip really looked. . .

"Will she forgive ya, Ian? Will she forgive ya for failin' t' trust her wi' the truth? Ya know I don't believe in the Rayne family motto. . .faith has need of the whole truth. But Jocelyn deserves t' know this. She deserves t' know that ya trust her, and if ya keep this from her. . ." the priest began. He stopped, dropping his head, and sighed. Ian swallowed hard. In a way, this was worse than his cousin when he was ranting. Philip was scary when he was ranting. He was scarier now. The dark-haired cousin said, "If ya keep this from her, ya will convince her, once and for all, that ya don't trust her."

"Pip, this has nothing to do with trust! Don't you think I considered telling her everything? I even thought about going to Jos when I first discovered the Declaration held the answers. She has contacts in Washington, DC, contacts who could have arranged for us to examine the document legally. Until I realized that things could get ugly, and I didn't want even a pinch of dirt to ruin her reputation. And once the ball starts rolling, you can't stop it! She'll have questions, questions that I can't answer. You know this. It's better if she thinks I'm solely responsible. And even if she knew better. . .no," Ian replied.

"I hate when ya make sense like that," Philip grumbled. The elder cousin relaxed with a barely audible sigh. Philip didn't like it, but he understood Ian's reasoning. Sometimes, that was all you could hope for. His cousin didn't like it, didn't even approve it, but he did understand it, and he wouldn't second-guess Ian further. After a moment, Philip continued, "All right. So there was more t' the Declaration heist than what ya told me previously. Next question. . .is there anythin' more t' this story?"

"Over and above what I've told you already? No. You know everything about this point, including Shaw's death," Ian replied wearily. He didn't even make an attempt at hiding his exhaustion or how badly he ached, though it wasn't really necessary with Philip around. He closed his eyes with a soft sigh. Right now, all he wanted to do was get some sleep. It was irrelevant, whether or not he dreamed. . .though dreams often brought him succor, not just against the pain in his body, but against the guilt which threatened to overwhelm him. He feared that there were many reasons why his daughter and brother could have been taken.

It seems he wasn't the only one, for Pip asked softly, "Ian? Is it possible that an old enemy took them? I'm not talkin' about the ones ya made from yer dances back and forth across the law over the years. But I know ya, cousin, and I know ya have this tendency to make enemies. Derek Rayne has the same tendency." Ian opened his eyes at that. Now, there was absolutely no need for him to be insulting! Pip grinned a bit ruefully, adding, "That isn't a dig, by the way. . .but the two a' ya do have that in common."

"And that's where the resemblance ends," Ian replied, "because not only do I not believe '_faith has need of the whole truth_,' but I've never blown up my house and lived to tell about it!" Philip rolled his eyes at this, and Ian added, "And I don't mean to bring up bad memories, but that always struck me as. . .well, a wee bit melodramatic." Philip gave him a stunned stare, as if to say, '_pot and kettle_.' Ian defended himself, "I am _no_t that melodramatic! In some ways, your former precept could be described as a drama queen."

Philip actually laughed at that, asking, "Can I be there when ya tell that to Derek's face?" Ian just shrugged. He had no trouble at all, telling Dr. Derek Rayne what he thought of him. However, that wasn't his main concern. Philip's smile slowly faded as he asked, "So, tell me, cousin. . .just when were ya goin' t' tell me that ya were a member of the Legacy, and that they assigned the task of retrievin' the Templar Treasure t' ya?" _Bloody hell_. This would take a long time, and Ian really needed to rest. But, he took a shallow breath, so he wouldn't hurt his ribs (again), then began the story.


	11. Explanations and Reunions

Author's note: Yes, I'm back. . .Ian was being stroppy. Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter. . .I hope everyone received their replies? Nice little feature. I have a few notes, mainly of the historical variety. In this chapter, we learn a little more about what took Jocelyn out of town. Princess Senephra was a guest character on _Poltergeist: The Legacy_, during the first season, played by the now-eighteen year old Colleen Rennison, in the episode _Doppleganger_. According to the episode, Senephra was the daughter of a Late Middle Kingdom Pharaoh named Akhenaton III. However, Akhenaton was the Heretic Pharaoh, husband to Nefertiti, predecessor of King Tutankhamen, and the founder of the religion of Aten. So, it's highly unlikely that it was any of the later pharaohs took his name. For that reason, I changed the name of Senephra's father to Menes III. To the best of my knowledge, there is no such pharaoh, but since I borrowed both him and his daughter from a television show. . . (And after a past reviewer tried to tell me that there were thirteen tribes of Israel, instead of twelve, I don't leave anything to chance)

Oh yes, and in case anyone is interested in catching PTL, it airs Sunday night on Showtime Beyond with two episodes, repeating on Wednesday night. It's currently in the middle of second season. . .which wasn't nearly as good as first season (we won't discuss the third and fourth seasons)

Onward and upward!

Chapter Ten

Explanations and Reunions

Philip had an idea how his cousin became a member of the Legacy. . .Ian was recruited, no doubt, due to his criminal past. That wasn't how it was presented to Ian, of course. Rather, they told him that they needed someone with his particular talents and skills. . .someone who wasn't picky about breaking laws. While the Legacy preferred to work within the laws created by men, Philip knew from experience that they had absolutely no compunction about breaking those laws when they believed it necessary, or when those laws proved to be inconvenient.

So. All this time, his cousin had been an agent for the Legacy. It was how he made his money. The money he earned from the Legacy, his commissions (for lack of a better word), were all invested. The Legacy didn't make him wealthy, but they made it possible for him to become wealthy. As the years went on, he began easing into legitimacy, especially after an 'incident.' Philip had heard references to this 'incident' in the past. He didn't know what, exactly, happened. . .Ian would never discuss it. The memory, no doubt, was entirely too painful for him. It was the only time Ian refused to discuss something. . .refused to discuss anything.

For years, Ian concentrated on his new business and on walking the straight and narrow. The Legacy left him alone for that time period, something that Philip found amazing. Then again, not all precepts were like Derek Rayne, and unwilling to take 'no' for an answer. Just ninety percent of the ones whom he met. In time, Ian met Jocelyn and fell in love with her. Philip smiled inwardly as his cousin's face lit up. He couldn't wait to meet the girl who captured Ian's heart so thoroughly. Even now, after all these years, he still loved her. Not just the memory of her, not just the ideal of her, but the flesh and blood woman. The one who could be damn picky about what she ate, who carried a grudge over the oddest things, and who had the annoying habit of knowing what Ian needed before he did. The woman who could be warm and sweet and funny, but who also had a devastating temper when it was unleashed.

Letting her go was the hardest thing Ian had ever done, both legal and illegal, or even shady. Between that sacrifice (and Philip knew that was exactly what it was) and Michael's death, it was no surprise that Ian shut down. The man was trying to protect himself, after all, and that was always the method of self-defense that was easiest for Ian to use. His Legacy handlers knew this as well. . .just as they knew when he was at his most vulnerable. Three years ago, still aching, still empty from seeing his beloved Jos and their daughter, Ian was called to a top-secret Legacy meeting, regarding Ben Gates and the Templar Treasure.

The Legacy had been keeping an eye on the Gates family for decades, knowing of its obsession with the Templar Treasure. . .an obsession which made the Legacy extremely uneasy. There were items in the Treasure likely to be of an esoteric nature, and the Legacy had been around too long to be blasé about the risks it posed. The Knights Templar were aware of the existence of the Legacy, and it was entirely possible that mention was made of the secret organization in the Treasure accumulated by the Templars before their betrayal at the hands of King Philip of France. It didn't know Ben Gates, and it certainly didn't trust him.

There were reasons, of course. During the Second World War, the Legacy spent much of its time fighting the Nazi attempts to gain esoteric artefacts. Hitler's interest in the occult made him even more dangerous than he already was. In the decades since the end of the war, the Legacy regarded anyone who sought such treasures with suspicion. They didn't know Ben Gates, but they did know his family, and they felt sure that the Gates family couldn't be trusted with the treasure. None of these conclusions surprised Philip. . .in fact, he would have been surprised if they _hadn't _come to those conclusions.

To maintain control of the Treasure, Ian was drawn back into the Legacy, for he was the finest thief they knew. Even better, his team was ferociously loyal to him. . .if the Legacy respected anything other than knowledge and commitment to the Cause, it was loyalty. (And contrary to popular belief, it wasn't the same thing) What the Legacy had to offer Ian in turn was never in doubt. Treasure hunts resonated with little boys (and little girls) everywhere. . .no matter how old they were. Ian needed this quest to take his mind off Jos and Annie, and he threw himself into his new mission with all the passion in his soul. Over the next six months, Ian researched all he could, not only about Ben Gates, but about the Templar Treasure itself. At last, he approached the former Navy diver with the promise of financial backing. . .with the request that he be allowed to accompany Gates as they grew closer to finding the treasure.

While Ian had some skill with a computer, he wasn't as proficient as he would have liked. Nor were any of his men. . .Shaw really had no use for computers. He was an enforcer, not a computer geek. In truth, Philip had a sense that Shaw was actually a little afraid of computers. It would make sense, when you came right down to it. And truly, Gates didn't have the necessary skills, either. That lack led to the addition of another member of the team. . .namely, Riley Poole. There was no one in San Francisco House who was a real counterpart to Riley Poole. There was Alex, of course, the head researcher. . .but she was a beautiful and brilliant woman with a soft heart. Philip had a very hard time believing that Ian would ever want to kill Alex, and he didn't think it was his own very real affection for her talking, either.

So, the team was created, though it was an uneasy alliance. Ian suffered through Riley's smart remarks, often gritting his teeth to keep from smacking the boy. And somewhere along the way, the hunt for the Templar Treasure transformed into a quest for something entirely different for Philip's cousin. It became a way for him to prove himself, and with that, the stage was set. This was no longer just about retrieving the treasure for the Legacy. It was also. . .well, to put it quite simply, Ian was absolutely unwilling to fail.

He had carte blanche to do whatever was necessary. Precept Clare Spencer (whom Philip loathed for years, even before the tribunal) impressed upon Ian the importance of this quest. Ian understood that it was a matter of life or death. Unfortunately, he made the mistake of trusting Patrick Gates, because his research didn't go far enough, and his knowledge of Masonic lore was lacking. He got caught. And, to hear him tell it, it was as simple as that. But ten years of dealing with the Legacy in one fashion or another taught Philip Callaghan one very simple lesson. . .nothing about the Legacy was ever simple. Ever.

* * *

Across town, Jocelyn and Danae were having their own conversation. They were back at the hotel, both exhausted by the events of the day, but the sun was still high. During the ride back to the hotel, they discussed the meeting with Mr. and Dr. Gates (that sure sounded funny), then from there, the conversation turned to what came next. What was their next step, what should their next step be, aside from getting Ian out of prison? 

At the moment, they were sitting cross-legged on the bed. Not surprising Danae at all, Jocelyn admitted that the lack of a ransom call made her very nervous. Hell, forget 'nervous,' it scared her half to death! Danae didn't tell her that she was wrong. How could she? Her own instincts told her that the lack of a call was deliberate, that the bad guys were trying to freak them out. Unfortunately, it was working entirely too well on Jocelyn, at least so far. Danae, on the other hand. . .Danae was just angry. Not just with the kidnappers, but at something Mueller told her before she departed with Josie. It was something her friend actually told him, and though Danae should have expected it, it still made her angry.

Imagine the _gall_, telling a young woman whose daughter had been abducted from her home that she brought it upon herself, by falling in love with a criminal! Imagine the gall, imagine the _arrogance_ required for such a statement. Danae would have been angry on the behalf of any victim. . .it was part of her job, using her anger to fuel her desire to catch the bad guys. But this was someone whom she loved, two someones, and she couldn't fathom the mindset necessary to say such an ugly thing. She hoped for the sake of the people in question that she never heard them say it.

Their conversation was interrupted when Danae's cell phone rang. Not with her usual ring tone, _Ride of the Valkyries_, but another favorite, _O Fortuna_. She programmed that ring tone for incoming calls from Special Agent in Charge Carter's cell phone. With a frown, she flipped her own cell open to answer the call. However, it wasn't bad news. . .it was anything but. From her supervisor, she learned that the paperwork to free Ian had been submitted, with Mueller pushing it through. According to the special agent, Ian would be freethe following morning.

She thanked her boss, hung up and told Jocelyn the good news. Her friend was strangely quiet. . .not just about the latest news, but she still hadn't hassled Danae about the confrontation with the Gates. Danae told her the entire truth, of course. . .after their first major argument, she wasn't about to lie to Jocelyn again. Under ordinary circumstances, Josie would have given her a disapproving look. . .at the very least. But, she didn't seem to care, and that worried Danae.

Finally, Jocelyn murmured, "Out by tomorrow morning. Isn't that fast?" Danae shrugged, admitting that she didn't know. After all, she was never in this situation before. None of the kidnapping cases she worked like this in the past were anything like this, in any way, shape, or form. And while she wondered what the husband-and-wife team of Ben and Abigail Gates were getting out of their offer to help Josie find Annie and Cam, she also wondered why Special Agent in Charge Mueller was taking such a personal interest in this case.

However, she didn't mention that to Jocelyn. For now, it was enough that he was solidly on their side. . .and he managed to get through to Josie that the kidnapping wasn't her fault. Now, if Danae could convince herself that she wasn't at fault, either. The agent added as Jocelyn mulled over Danae's admission that this was an unusual case, "Besides, we really shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. We have other work to do."

Jocelyn looked surprised, asking, "We do? Like what?" Oy, this was bad. In some ways, Josie was a lot more organized. Danae was organized in terms of her work. . .she had to be. In her personal life, she was far more disorganized. Josie, due to the nature of her work for the Department of Cultural Resources, had to be organized in her professional life. She was also usually very organized in her private life, though she laughingly referred to it as organized chaos. For her not to think about the practical matters of getting Ian out of prison. . .

Which was why Danae pointed out, "Well, for one thing, we need to start buying clothes for Ian, and other necessities. Yeah, they'll give him the clothes he was wearing when he arrived at the prison, but let's face it. . .the man's lost weight since then! We also need to get arrangements with the hotel made for him to stay here." It occurred to Danae then, that her friend might not be pleased with that arrangement, and she added somewhat anxiously, "You and I can. . .I mean. . .you will be okay with it, if he stays with us, won't you?"

There was a brief pause as Jocelyn considered this, her face solemn. At last, she replied, "You know, I will be. I mean, I think I'd actually feel a lot better if he did. It would make it a lot easier for me to keep an eye on him." Danae bit back a smile at the observation. Yeah, she was actually thinking the same thing. Jocelyn added thoughtfully, "And what about the other guys? I mean, I should have asked this before, but what about them?"

"That's in the works," Danae replied. This was true, because Ian wanted his guys out of prison, and working with them. She learned over the last few days that if they tried to keep them out of it, they would probably try to break out of jail. Josie and Annie were theirs, even though most of them had never even laid eyes on Annie. She was Ian's daughter, therefore she was theirs. There was nothing more to be said, and Danae respected them for that. She continued, "However, it's gonna take longer. They aren't any blood relation to Annie."

Jocelyn nodded, her eyes growing distant, and Danae asked softly, "Josie? What's wrong?" Her friend didn't answer immediately. She was staring at something she took out of her purse. . .perhaps it was a picture, perhaps it wasn't a letter. Danae didn't try to look. In some respects, the years she spent in England with Ian and the others were a sensitive subject with Jocelyn. There was a lot to be resolved between Annie's parents. Danae meant to see that they had the chance to resolve those issues.

At last, Josie replied, "It's all. . .it just all seems so surreal, you know? I mean, everything is happening so fast. And. . .crap!" She slammed her fist against the poor abused mattress, startling Danae. Josie shook her head, her mouth tightening and tears shining in her eyes as she muttered, "I've forgotten the conversion from UK measurements to American. I know Ian's measurements, but only in the United Kingdom. Not in the United States." Not good. She was getting upset over not remembering the conversion rates!

The agent took her friend's hands, holding them between her own, and said quietly, "It's okay, Josie. . .it's okay. I'll talk to the prison later this afternoon, see what I can find out. This is something we can handle, you don't need to get all worried about it. He looks to be the same size as my brother, so it's a place to start. It's okay. We can handle this." Jocelyn closed her eyes and Danae impulsively pulled her into a fierce embrace. Most of the time, Josie could keep it together. She had other focuses. . .but ever so often, some of her fear and frustration would leak through in unexpected ways.

Jocelyn's current emotional state was fairly stable, given the circumstances, but this was hardly seeing her at her worst. And Danae had. She had seen Jocelyn in meltdown mode. And it might have scared, or unnerved, Danae. . .if she didn't know Josie, almost as well as she knew her own family. She could go from quiet and reflective, to reeling and spewing, in a matter of seconds. She did have fierce mood swings, even under ordinary circumstances. . .but that was because she kept entirely too much to herself. She internalized her frustration with every day problems, until that frustration reached critical mass. Like now. After a moment, Danae released her and asked softly, "You okay?" Josie nodded, and the agent added, "Nervous?"

Jocelyn's mood was stabilizing. She smiled wryly and answered, "Oooh yeah." The pair sat still for a long time, Danae still loosely holding her friend's hands. It was as much for her own benefit as it was for Jocelyn's. Danae was a tomboy growing up. . .she had her brother, and she had her parents. But the girls she went to school with. . .well, they were a bit overwhelmed by her. That was how her mother always put it. The truth was, until she met Jocelyn, Danae didn't really have any close female friends. Or, come to that, any close male friends, either.

She supposed that was why she was so ferociously protective of Jocelyn. Even given the way their friendship started, and how angry Jocelyn was when she found out the truth, she was still the best friend Danae ever had. Often, when they were together, they were like a pair of teenagers, and that wasn't altogether wrong. Her mother, when Danae told her about Jocelyn, observed that neither young woman ever really had the chance to be teenagers. Danae, because kids her own age found her intimidating, and Jocelyn because she was too busy fighting for her life for much of her adolescent years. They had time to make up for.

"It'll be okay. . .you know that, right?" Danae asked her friend softly. Jocelyn gave a tiny shrug, as if she was trying to believe that, but didn't yet dare. Firmly, Danae repeated, "It'll be all right, Josie. . .we'll get them back. And when we do. . ." She hesitated about going any further. Like, telling her best friend that she believed she and Ian would get back together. Danae, of course, knew the truth of the Declaration heist. She also knew that Jocelyn would eventually learn the truth. She had to. Too many people knew the whole story, and it was just a matter of time before the truth did come out. Instead, she added, "When we do, we're gonna have a celebration to end all celebrations."

Fortunately, Jocelyn didn't seem to notice her hesitation, murmuring an '_I hope so_,' instead. Danae bit her lip, then chose to change the subject. She couldn't make Jocelyn believe that things would work out. Instead, she inquired, in a falsely breezy voice, "So! What do you want for dinner?" Jocelyn looked at her, a frankly disbelieving expression on her face. Danae bit back a smile. Well, at least she looked a little more normal. 'Normal,' of course, being a very subjective term where Jocelyn was concerned.

"Dinner? Danae, it's only two in the afternoon, and in case you had forgotten, we ate just a few hours ago," Jocelyn pointed out quite reasonably. Yeah, but Jocelyn really didn't eat that much when they were eating with Andrew Mueller. Oh, she pushed her food around convincingly. . .convincingly, at least, to the official from the Justice Department. But Danae distinctly remembered what she ordered, and what arrived on her plate. . .so she knew for a fact that Jocelyn pushed some of her own food over to Danae's plate.

However, she wouldn't call Jocelyn on it. She wasn't that hungry. . .but she would be later. Instead of pointing that truth out to her friend, Danae answered, "So? It's not too early to think about what we want for dinner. Do we want Italian, Japanese, German, Chinese, Mexican? Personally, I want Italian, but that shouldn't surprise you by this time." Jocelyn rolled her eyes, but she was smiling again, and Danae mentally congratulated herself upon the victory, however minor it was.

"Actually, I think I feel like a cheeseburger, fries, and a strawberry shake," Jocelyn answered musingly, and Danae smiled wickedly. Ohhhh, this was her lucky day! It wasn't often that Jocelyn just unthinkingly gave her such ammunition to use during a conversation! She reminded herself to ask Ian, once they had him out of prison, if he had any ammunition on Josie as well. Knowing how long they were together, and how close they became, she was quite sure he had quite a few stories of his own to tell.

For now, she teased Jocelyn, "Funny. You don't look like any of those!" She was rewarded with a confused frown, then Jocelyn rolled her eyes. However, the effect was ruined when the smaller woman had to laugh. Now smiling herself, Danae said, "Good. That's much better. But be warned, if I have to employ my secret weapon, I will." And to show her seriousness, she released Jocelyn's hands to raise her own, and wiggle her fingers in a threatening manner. She happened to know all of Jocelyn's ticklish spots.

"Wait on that. Ian's a lot more ticklish than I am. Especially his sides," Jocelyn recalled, a faint smile lighting up her face. Danae lowered her hands, fascinated, as always, by her friend's recollections. Jocelyn continued, "We used to pin him down. . .I should say, I pinned him down. He was deathly afraid of hurting me, and Ian tends to thrash about when he's being tickled. So, of course, the other guys used any advantage they could find. And sometimes, to further distract him, I would shake my hair in his face. . .especially after I just washed it."

Danae laughed outright at this reminder of her friend's mischievous streak, replying, "Yeah, well, maybe we should wait until his ribs are healed before we launch any tickle attacks against him. Don't imagine laughing with broken ribs is particularly pleasant." She immediately wished she kept her mouth shut, because Jocelyn stilled and her face grew very solemn. _Dammit_! That was not one of her smarter ideas, reminding Josie of the beating Ian sustained inside the prison. However, she couldn't unsay the words now.

"How bad is it?" Jocelyn asked quietly, shaking her dark hair back from her eyes. Once more, Danae hesitated, and this time, Jocelyn did notice. She leaned forward, her voice dropping, "Danae. Tell me. You know I don't like it when people keep secrets, telling me that they're protecting me. I'll find out tomorrow anyhow, so tell me tonight, so I know what to expect." Crap. She had a good point. . .aside from the one on top of her head. And she really didn't need the reminder about keeping secrets.

To alleviate the guilt over the greater secret she wasn't telling, Danae replied, "He's hurting. . .hurting pretty badly. But it's not life-threatening. Broken ribs. A lot of bruises. He's strong, Josie, just like you've told me countless times in the past." Jocelyn nodded, clearly struggling, and another pause stopped the conversation. And once more, Danae changed the subject, asking, "Josie? Do you usually work with that museum? The one that called for help on that particular day?"

The question evidently startled her friend, because Jocelyn frowned thoughtfully and replied, "No, actually. . .it's a private museum. Doesn't have anything to do with the State. Their main sponsor is a San Francisco-based organization, the Luna Foundation, and they specialize in unusual artifacts." Well, that certainly covered a great deal of ground! Based on what she heard, it sounded like the Luna Foundation would have been real interested in the Templar Treasure. Jocelyn, however, was explaining, "According to the curator, I was recommended for this particular exhibit by the chairman of the Luna Foundation, Dr. Derek Rayne, because of a paper I wrote about Princess Senephra, the only child of Pharaoh Menes III. Her tomb was lost for four thousand years." Jocelyn was warming to the subject now, her dark eyes lighting up as they always did when she started discussing history.

Danae, relieved to have successfully distracted her, said nothing as her friend continued, "Senephra was caught in the middle, between her father and one of the high priests. At the time I wrote my paper, Senephra's tomb hadn't been found, and her story had been lost to history. Menes III wasn't a particular important pharaoh, but that wasn't the point. His only child was murdered in her sleep. The high priest in question murdered an eight year old girl, to get back at her father. But he wasn't satisfied with killing her, oh no. . .no, he had to preventthat child from reachingthe Egyptian afterlife as well!"

Jocelyn's voice shook with rage as she described the abuse of a long-dead child. Danae looked down at her hands, murmuring, "That poor kid." She thought briefly about ghosts, if such a thing was possible. If there was any spirit ripe to haunt, it was that little princess. She must have been furious and terrified. Danae knew just enough about Egyptian history and culture to realize what sort of crime this high priest committed by killing the child of the pharaoh. She asked, "Did they ever catch the son of a bitch who did that to her?"

Jocelyn shook her head, the motion showing her fury, and answered, "Nope. Up until Dr. Grady called me, I didn't even know that Senephra's tomb was found. . .apparently, about ten years ago, some explorers stumbled across it. Didn't even know what they found. They donated it to the Luna Foundation, who discovered eventually that it was Senephra's tomb. Luna South was showing the artifacts from her tomb, as well as her sarcophagus, with the story of her murder. They actually needed my help, not just as a historian, but as a mother. Since Senephra was only eight years old when she was killed, they believed that there would be children who would come to the exhibit."

And? Jocelyn shrugged, explaining, "Neither the curator, nor any of her staff, have children. They wanted to know if they should gloss over. . .if young children could handle the truth of what was done to Senephra. I told them that I couldn't speak for all parents, but my eight year old could come up with far more terrifying possibilities with her imagination than what was actually done to her. Terrifying, and gruesome. They talked to a few other parents in the area, and when those parents agreed that their children's imaginations often came up with something far worse than reality, they decided not to do the spoon-feed thing."

She paused, murmuring almost to herself, "I wonder how the exhibit went. After Annie was taken. . ." Jocelyn's voice broke, but she forced herself to continue, "After the news broke, Dr. Grady told me that if she, or any of her bosses, could do anything to help, they would. But they're archaeologists and historians. . .they aren't commandos, or cops, or anyone who could help me bring my daughter home. I thanked her, though. What else could I do?" Danae didn't have an answer for her. Something that was happening all too often these days.

Instead, she said softly, "You probably did the right thing. . .telling the museum what you did. Annie, and kids her age. . .it isn't like when we were growing up. They already know too much. They know about good touch and bad touch. They know about kids dying, for a variety of reasons. . .including because their parents abuse them.And here's this little girl, from long ago, who died because a priest was jealous of her father." Danae could only shake her head. As a federal agent, she often saw atrocities committed against children.

Even before Jocelyn and Annie came into her life, such cases devastated her. Her male colleagues felt the same. The first time she ever saw one of the senior agents cry was when they found the half-dead victim of a kidnapping. The poor kid wasn't much more than a baby, only two or three years old. Same age as his granddaughter. Jocelyn murmured in a far-away voice, "I saw her mummy. . .I could see the dent in her skull. Her skull was caved in. That's how he killed her. With a rock, or something. . .it caved in her head, Danae!"

Danae was now regretting the change in subject. Yes, she distracted Jocelyn from her worries about Ian. But. . . Her breath caught as Jocelyn raised her eyes to look at her. She was furious, but her voice was quiet as she said, "That monster caved in her skull, Danae. I'm not gonna let that happen to my little girl. Annie. . .Annie's the same age Senephra was when she was murdered. I'm not gonna let my daughter die." There was a fierce determination there that was missing earlier. Danae had no idea what happened to the evil high priest who murdered a child four thousand years earlier. . .but she had a pretty good idea of what would happen to the ones who took her niece. And she had absolutely no sympathy for them whatsoever. They would get Annie and Cam back. . .and then? Let the chips fall where they might.

* * *

Even as he watched over Cameron and Annie, Derek Shaw was listening to the conversation between Danae Marini and Jocelyn. And he was convinced, beyond any doubt, that Jocelyn's presence at that small, Luna-funded museum was no coincidence. He knew the Legacy, and the Luna Foundation, entirely too well. He murmured, "No. . .no, this was no coincidence. Can't be. Rayne knew something. Question is, what did he know and when did he know it?" 

During his life, Derek Shaw knew the Legacy only from Ian, and only by its cover name, the Luna Foundation. Since Ian was a free agent for the Legacy, his men didn't belong to the ancient organization. Which was fine by them, because they saw what it put Ian through. He often became frustrated with the Legacy hierarchy, calling them the 'Luna lunatics.' Shaw never asked him the reason for that. It was a rare situation when talking about what angered him only worsened things for Ian. . .and the Legacy was one of those rare situations.

From his vantage point in the afterlife, Shaw became familiar with the entire situation involving Senephra, including how she knocked Philip down the stairs when her sarcophagus arrived at San Francisco House. An eight year old child murdered by an Egyptian high priest more than four thousand years earlier would hardly be able to tell the difference between that priest and a Catholic priest of the modern day. Even so, it was just as well that he and the little Egyptian princess from hell were in two separate parts of the afterlife. He might have had words with her for causing harm to Ian's beloved cousin Pip.

Shaw pushed the case involving Princess Senephra out of his mind, and instead, focused on another eight year old. One who was very much alive, thank you very much, and if it was within Shaw's power to keep her that way, he would do so. Cam and the niece he shared with Shaw (and the rest of Ian's team) had been left alone, allowing Cam to heal from his injuries. While he was still somewhat stiff, the young scientist could now move about. . .and he was doing just that. Shaw murmured, watching his progress, "Good boy. . .looking for a way out."

There were no other exits, but at least he tried. Cam finished his rounds and settled down beside Annie. The little girl was sound asleep. And despite his best efforts, Shaw thought again that Annie was the same niece as the little princess who was murdered forty centuries earlier. Eight years old. If he could forget, for a moment, that Philip could have been killed when she knocked him down the stairs (why could she do things like that, but he couldn't?). . . then his anger with that long-ago priest overwhelmed his anger with the little princess.

If someone did that to Annie. . . No, there really wasn't much he could do about it. Not now. But if someone had hurt Annie, while he was still alive. . .well, he would have slotted the bugger, as his mates in the SAS put it. That was, of course, assuming that Ian didn't get there first. Shaw smiled coldly, thinking about the entertainment that would have provided. The quickest, and best, way to release Ian's darkest side was to mess about with children, for he despised anyone who would harm a child. Adults were one thing. . .they could take care of themselves. Children, however. . . The two times Shaw saw Ian in berserker mode, it was due to a child. The second time, of course, was the attack against Jocelyn, which led to her reluctant return to the States. The first. . .ahhh, the first was when Ian caught a now-former member traumatizing a child. Ironically enough, that child was the same age as Senephra and Annie.

Unaware of Derek's presence, Cam lifted Annie into his lap, cradling her against his chest. Their abductors had left them alone for some time, and Shaw was hoping it would remain that way. The late enforcer was deathly afraid that the next time the wankers came in, Cam would be beaten again, and Derek had no idea how Annie would react. She was a protective little tyke, and he was terrified she would try to protect her uncle from another beating. If she did that, Shaw had no way of protecting her from whatever these twats would do next.

But the door remained closed, and Annie remained safe within the protective circle of her uncle's arms. Odd. Cameron was a scientist, and yet, there were so many similarities between him and his brother. They were like night and day in some respects. . .and eerily similar in others. Shaw knew of Philip's closest friend in the Legacy, after the lovely Alex Moreau, Nick Boyle. The young former SEAL who was furious with Philip for going to Ian, after the crimes Ian committed.

_Does the boy know_, Derek wondered, _just how similar he and Philip really are? Does he comprehend that the battles a priest fights, on a day to day basis, are no less pressing than the battles fought by the Legacy_? Sometimes, he thought so. . .other times, he wasn't so sure. One thing about the Legacy which Ian always hated, was their attitude that the Legacy was the be-all and the end-all. Too many precepts fell into the trap of thinking that protecting the Legacy took precedence over their mission. . .to protect the innocent.

This was not a trap which San Francisco House fell into. . .however, they weren't the entire Legacy. A trap which _did_ consistently cause them trouble was their perception that the Legacy was the only way to fight evil. They didn't understand that Philip's manner of saving the world prevented them from having to fight battles down the road. And that was what disgusted Ian most of all. Part of it, yes, was Ian's love for his cousin. To Ian, such an attitude devalued Philip's work as a priest. Shaw could hardly argue with his friend and his boss, because it was certainly the truth. Philip's work was of the preventative kind.

Well, that was their problem. . .and it would stay their problem, unless the Legacy was somehow involved in the abduction of Annie and Cameron. Shaw wouldn't put anything past them. . .Houses had fallen in the past. Albany House, Cairo House, Montreal House, Boston House, Paris House. . .all of them either were wiped out, or turned against the mission of the Legacy. However, Shaw saw little to indicate that the Legacy was directly involved in the abductions. Derek Rayne may have known _something_, but not _everything_.

"Uncle Cam?" Annie asked sleepily, and Shaw's focus was broken. He turned his full attention to the little girl he never got to see in life. Cam just cuddled her closer and Annie asked, still half-asleep, "Tell me about Daddy when he was a little boy? I know about Mommy when she was a little girl, 'cause Aunt Pauline told me. . .but I wanna know about Daddy." _I wanna know about Daddy_. Well, she was certainly asking the right person, because Shaw didn't have the first idea about Ian when he was a child. Ian never talked about that.

"Well. . .I'm not sure what I can tell you, since your daddy is older than I am. I don't know what he was like when he was very, very little. Your auntie Norah could have told you. Or Auntie Linda. . .Linda McDowell Callaghan was her name. Is her name, I should say, because she's still alive. She knew your daddy when he was little, before I was born. Or our cousin, Michael. . .unfortunately, he's dead," Cam answered. Annie tilted her head backward, to look at Cam more clearly.

"That's sad. Was he sick, Uncle Cam?" Annie asked, frowning. Cam shook his head, his face growing solemn as he thought about his late cousin. Annie asked next, "Did bad men get him, like they got us, then? Really, really bad men?" Shaw was amused by the comment, until Annie added, "Really, really bad men do bad things and hurt people 'cause they like it. That's what Aunt Danae says sometimes. She says that everyone does bad things once in a while, but that really, really bad people hurt people 'cause they like it, or 'cause they don't care that it hurts other people."

"Yes. . .yes, I suppose you could say that really, really bad men got him," Cam answered slowly. Shaw could understand. . .just as he could understand why Cam continued, "But you asked me about your father. To me, he was the best big brother anyone could ever ask for. He was always there when I needed help, and he always looked after me. I remember a few times when he would get into trouble because he did look after me. And after our parents died. . .it was hard on him, Annie Laurie. He was still so young. . .not even old enough to drive a car yet. And yet, he had to look after our Aunt Norah, who moved in with us after our parents died, and he had to look after me."

"That's sad," Annie repeated, "you were really little when your mommy and daddy died?" Cam nodded, and the little girl continued, "At least Mommy was a grown-up when Gramma and Grampa died. But she was still really sad. I think she's still sad, and angry, too." There was no 'think' about it for Derek Shaw. . .he knew exactly why Annie's mother was still sad, and never stopped being angry. Even now, years after hearing about her parents' murders, Shaw ached for Jocelyn. As if losing her parents wasn't bad enough, there was a spectacle of it. She couldn't grieve in private. . .every step she took was dogged by reporters.

"Oh, yes. . .she is still sad, and she's still angry. Your mother was only twenty years old when your grandparents died, and she wasn't quite finished with college. Worse yet, there were people telling her that it was the fault of her parents. That somehow, they were to blame, by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. . .mere bad luck. That's why she went to England, and eventually met your father. . .because she couldn't grieve alone, without someone telling her that her parents got what they deserved, or without someone asking her how she felt about it," Cam replied. Shaw couldn't wait to hear what Annie made of that.

And she didn't disappoint. The little girl, now fully awake, blurted out, "But, Uncle Cam! Mommy's parents were dead. . .she felt sad. That's a silly question to ask!" _Out of the mouths of babes_, Shaw thought with a wry grin. Cam and Annie were fine. A quick glance told him that Danae and Jocelyn had called the warden of the prison, and got basic sizes for Ian. It was actually late at night now, and everyone was asleep. Shaw didn't sleep, but he did want to check on his other mates. With a whisper of a thought, he went where he was needed. . .at least until Ian got out of prison the following day.

* * *

It had been a **long **day, but at least they accomplished what they set out to do. By this time tomorrow, Ian would be with them. . .if not free, then at least he would be in a position to help with the rescue efforts. Perhaps it was something of a misnomer to call it a 'rescue,' since they didn't yet know where Annie and Cam were, but Danae preferred to look on the positive side. Ian would be out of prison, at least for the moment, and when they weren't looking for leads, he and Josie could start working things out. 

Right now, however, Josie was nestled under the covers, so all Danae could see of her was her dark hair. After calling the warden, and getting the information, the evil twins had a short shopping trip. . .relatively speaking. . .in which they bought anything they thought Ian might need. Keeping in mind that he was recovering from a beating, they chose to err on the side of caution, and get a size bigger in slacks, jeans, and even bought him a few pairs of sweat pants. Danae didn't doubt that he would be more comfortable, especially with broken ribs.

They bought a duffel bag, more for their convenience than anything else, and toiletries. Certainly, the hotel provided some, but as Jocelyn pointed out, everyone's body chemistry is not the same. Danae could relate, since there were some soaps that made her skin itch. And Jocelyn knew Ian far better than the hotel. After they completed the necessities, Danae treated her evil twin (or rather, the less-evil twin) to a cheeseburger and a shake, as Jocelyn admitted she wanted. They barely got back to the room, when she collapsed from exhaustion.

It wasn't just the running they did. . .it was also the emotional wear-and-tear of her anxiety over Ian, over Annie, and over Cam. There was also the meeting with Ben and Abigail Gates that afternoon. It wore her out. Not just the strain of meeting with someone who had reason to hate her, because of her relationship with Ian, but the additional strain of being in an unfamiliar city under less than pleasant circumstances. Oh yes, and they couldn't forget the fact that a ransom call still hadn't been made.

So, no. . .Danae wasn't in the least bit surprised that Josie was sound asleep. She just wished she could follow suit. Unfortunately, that wasn't happening. Danae's mind was whirling with what she learned, not only from Andrew Mueller, but from the warden. He had heard some disquieting rumors about the prison, which had nothing to do with Ian. However, they concerned him, and he asked them to look into the validity of these claims. She immediately agreed, cautioning him that she could only do so much right now. He understood.

There were other things. What she learned from Jocelyn earlier, about the reason she was called away from her building on the day that Cam and Annie were abducted. The story of the little princess Senephra, who was doomed to walk the earth until her story was told and her name was restored to her, thanks to the jealousy of a high priest. And she couldn't help but notice that both Princess Senephra, the daughter of a pharaoh, and Annie Ramsey, daughter of a thief, were eight years old when a traumatizing event occurred.

In Senephra's case, it was her murder. . .and as Jocelyn said earlier, while they were discussing this, both women were determined that Annie would live through this. Danae knew how far Jocelyn was willing to go to protect her daughter, but Josie wasn't the only one involving in this. On the other hand. . . Earlier in the day (was it only that day?), Danae told Jocelyn that she believed the spirits of those who went before. . .her birth parents, Jocelyn's own parents and grandparents. . .watched out for their family on earth. And she still believed that. She just wondered if was too much to ask that an eight year old murdered princess would look after an eight year old who had been abducted, possibly because of her father's sins.

As the clock marched on to one am, Danae shifted down beside Jocelyn, sighing quietly. The longer she tried to cure her insomnia with bad late night movies on television, the worse her insomnia became. And tomorrow looked to be another busy day. At her side, Jocelyn remained sound asleep, for which Danae was extremely grateful. Josie never got enough sleep when she was worried, right up until the time her body decided that she had enough. At which point, it was steer her to the bed, and don't let anyone get in the way. A quick motion had the lights turned out, but Danae's mind continued to spin. There were still so many things to do. The hotel was notified as to Ian's presence the following day. That, at least, was taken care of.

But she was worried about how Josie would deal with having Ian under foot. They hadn't really seen each other for nearly ten years. . .and no, the meeting in Myrtle Beach didn't count. They would be living in relatively close quarters, and that could get interesting. She and Josie got on each other's nerves sometimes. But at least Danae had the last eight years to fall back on. Ian hadn't lived around her for nearly nine years. And just in the last year, Josie had changed a great deal. Danae would have to keep an eye on them.

One fifteen. Danae resolved that she would stop looking at the clock. It only put pressure on her to get some sleep, and that would make things worse. She tried to distract herself by counting sheep, something she hadn't done since she was fourteen and worried sick over her first day in high school. Unfortunately, she forgot to pack her lullaby machine. . .ever since she was a teenager, listening to the rain always worked better when she was trying to sleep than trying to count animals in her head.

Jocelyn mumbled something in her sleep, and Danae smiled quietly. At least Jocelyn was sleeping peacefully. After the last week, she more than earned it. Like Danae, the historian often had rough nights. No matter how exhausted she was, there were nights when her mind simply wouldn't quiet down long enough for her to let go. This was especially true in the weeks before Annie's birth, when Jocelyn's rage toward Ian often made Danae fear for her. She should have guessed then that the newly-minted PhD was still in love with Ian, but lacked the experience to understand that.

One twenty. She had to wonder, speaking of Ian and Jocelyn, if she should do anything to help that pair along. Obviously, they were still crazy about each other. Danae was just now getting used to the knowledge that Jocelyn didn't belong with Cam. There was something missing between them, something she saw even when Jocelyn and Ian were apart. That something, whatever she saw. . .it wasn't necessarily important to a lasting relationship. The way she saw it (she who had so few lasting relationships), if Ian and Jocelyn were to have a future together, they had to trust each other. That would be the sticking point.

One twenty-five. She really had to stick with her promise not to check the clock constantly, but it was hard to do. Instead, she thought about the confrontation with Ben and Abigail Gates that afternoon. Maybe she came on a little strong. . .or maybe not. But they had to understand, she was not a member of their adoring public. She knew the whole story of the Declaration heist, she had their number, so to speak, and they had to realize she would do anything to protect Jocelyn, her daughter, and even Ian. Those three, they were hers, and you took care of what was yours.

One twenty-seven. Her mind returned to the conversation with the warden that afternoon, while Josie was in the shower. Maybe she should think about something similar the following day, since it did such a great job of relaxing Josie? A hot shower, especially. The steam could make a person sleepy. In any event, while Josie was in the shower, Danae got the requested information of Ian's sizes, and they talked about some of the other inmates in the prison. . .how some of them had curiously blank backgrounds. Especially Tiny Masters and that boy, Paul.

One thirty. Danae felt her muscles growing lax, as she started drifting into a fugue state. Or whatever the twilight time was called. For the first time, she heard rain beating against the window of their hotel room, and she sighed softly. The soft music created by the rhythm lulled her, and her breathing slowed, becoming more regular. During her last trip to the bathroom, to get a glass of water for beside the bed, she made sure that the door to the room was dead bolted. All she had to do. . .

* * *

"Nervous?" 

"Beyond nervous. I think the butterflies have butterflies."

Philip Callaghan put his hand on his cousin's shoulder compassionately. It was about half past ninethe morning after he learned the whole truth of his cousin's involvement with the Declaration heist. At seven pm the previous evening, they learned that Andrew Mueller successfully pushed through the paperwork needed to release Ian into the custody of the Task Force assigned to find his brother and daughter. He would be released at ten am the following morning. The current plan was for Agent Danae Marini to pick him up.

"Next question. . .are ye more nervous about bein' released from prison, or about seein' Jocelyn again?" Philip inquired. They were sitting outside the warden's office. Ian's head was resting against the back of the chair, his eyes closed. His arm was pressed against his midsection, whether that was due to the broken ribs or the aforementioned butterflies was anyone's guess. At Philip's question, however, Ian raised his head to look at him. The bruising wasn't as dark on his face today, but it still wasn't pretty.

"Do I have to choose?" Ian asked plaintively, and Philip bit back a grin. He couldn't blame his cousin for being nervous. In some ways, that was how he felt about San Francisco House. . .especially Alex. They became like brother and sister while he was in the Legacy. He missed her greatly while he was away from California. . .but on the other hand, he hated seeing the disappointment in her eyes when he left once more. Nervous about leaving, about saying good-bye. . .nervous about what kind of verbal abuse it would bring from Nick this time.

"Not at all," Philip replied, steering his mind away from the still sensitive subject of Nick Boyle. Ian was his focus right now, and that was how it had to be. If Nick chose to feel betrayed that Philip was supporting his cousin, so be it. Philip never told Nick how to think or what to feel. That wasn't his style. But he also wouldn't spend time worrying about it. He would do what he had to do, to take care of his family. He hoped one day, Nick would understand that.

"Good. It. . .I know there's a better than even chance that Jos won't even come with Agent Marini to retrieve me. Part of me wants her to, and the other part hopes she doesn't come. Does that make any sense to you?" Ian questioned. Philip just smiled. Of course it did. And he also understood that there were many reasons for each mixed emotion. He wanted to see her, but he already felt awkward around her. Being around her always made him feel more calm, more composed, more focused. . .but he hated the idea of Jocelyn setting foot in this place.

"I'd be more worried if ye didna feel that way, Ian. Let's face it, cousin. . .you've never stopped tryin' t' protect her. Even when she was so angry wi' ye, she couldn't see straight, ye never stopped yer protection. Why should that change now? Ye love her, Ian. Always have, and probably always will. So, no. . .it makes perfect sense t' me," Philip replied. He paused, then added, "I gotta admit. I'm lookin' forward t' meetin' her. Michael and I always wondered what kinda woman would capture yer heart."

"Did Michael know about Jos?" Ian asked, seizing on the unlikely topic. Philip raised his eyebrows. They didn't usually discuss Michael. His older brother's death caused a crisis in faith for Philip, for one thing. Philip wasn't entirely sure why that triggered it. . .he experienced tragedy before. Knew good people who died. He saw it often in Belfast while he was growing up. But Michael's death devastated him, and he could no longer find comfort in the Church. Could no longer find comfort in God.

Ian? Philip had no idea why his cousin was silent on the discussion of Michael. There were a variety of reasons, a variety of possibilities. Perhaps they argued, and perhaps Ian was afraid of causing further hurt to him. His cousin was an odd mixture of compassion and ruthlessness, which explained his presence in the Legacy. However, he decided he would work out the why later, and instead answered, "If so, he never mentioned her t' me. Personally, I think he would have liked her."

Ian smiled a bit at that, answering, "I wouldn't doubt that. He probably would have said that she was too good for me. And he would have been right." Philip glared at his cousin. All right, now _that_ was enough of _that_! Ian just returned the look steadily, adding, "You know it's true." Which part? Ian seemed on the point of continuing, when both men heard footsteps. Philip looked up as a tall, exotic-looking young woman approached. She looked to be in her early thirties, with long, black hair. The priest mentally put her side by side with Alex, another beautiful, exotic woman. That would be interesting. . .

" Agent Marini," Ian greeted, and Philip blinked. This was Agent Marini? She smiled as she stopped in front of them. Philip was a priest, but he was still a man, and he could still appreciate a beautiful woman. Danae Marini was a beautiful woman, not just because of her lovely features, but because of the warmth of her eyes. She had a lovely smile, as well. Ian said, rising to his feet a bit stiffly, "Introductions are in order, of course. Philip, this is Agent Danae Marini of the FBI. . .Jocelyn's best friend and Annie's honorary aunt. Agent Marini, this is Father Philip Callaghan, my cousin." Agent Marini smiled and shook his hand with a firm grip. Hmm. . .if Nick was speaking to him after this was over, maybe he should introduce them. He had a feeling it would be fun to watch an encounter between these two.

"Nice to meet you, Father Callaghan. Josie is getting your prescriptions from the prison doctor, Ian," Agent Marini said, inclining her head to Philip. Oh, a woman who didn't see a Roman collar as an automatic come-on. That was reassuring. So Jocelyn had joined her best friend. Philip didn't even bother looking at his cousin. He knew what Ian's expression would be. Apparently, so did Agent Marini, for she added with some exasperation, "Please. This is _Jocelyn_ we're discussing. The girl has her own way of doing things, she always has, and after finding out that you had been beaten up in prison. . .well, there was no keeping her away."

"I know. I know. I just. . .there are some truly unpleasant individuals here, Danae. I don't like the thought of Jos anywhere near them. For any reason," Ian answered with a slight sigh as Philip helped him to his feet. The blond man stopped and looked at Philip, asking, "That reminds me, Pip. . .where are you staying? I mean, do you have a place to stay, here in the city?" Philip wouldn't ask how the conversation reminded Ian of that particular fact. He probably didn't know the answer.

"Yes, I do. . .although, if ye wouldna mind droppin' me off at th' hotel? I originally had a flight today, then was notified of a cancellation on an earlier flight. So m' reservations were for t'day," Philip answered. Ian nodded, and Philip added before his cousin could ask, "And yes, I do plan t' stay at that particular hotel. I have a feelin' that yer hotel room will be crowded enough as it is." Ian blinked, then looked at Danae Marini, as if seeking confirmation that he would, indeed, be staying with them.

She answered, guessing what the question was, "Yes, you're staying with us. Jocelyn wanted it that way. . . wanted you where she could keep an eye on you. She seems to be afraid that you'll get into more trouble without us around, and I'm inclined to agree with her. Father Callaghan, I will definitely drop you off at your hotel, if you give me the name and room number. We'll stay in touch as much as possible. That's if you're here to help, in general?" Philip nodded emphatically. . .that was why he was here. Agent Marini continued, "Good. We may have need of a priest. I'm sure you have contacts of your own."

That he did. He was on the point of saying so when a slight young woman approached. She was several inches shorter than Agent Marini, and Ian breathed, "Jos." So this was the mysterious Jocelyn. Philip had never seen any pictures of her, so he didn't know what to expect. While she lacked the heart-stopping beauty of her best friend, or Alex Moreau, she had a warm, friendly face, and bright, inquisitive eyes. Right now, too, her eyes were focused solely on Ian. She was, Philip realized, giving him a once-over. . .he saw his mother do it to him and Michael countless times, and recognized it. She was making sure Ian was all right.

His cousin said a little more loudly, the volume of his voice betraying his anxiety and his awkwardness, "Jocelyn. Uhm. This is my cousin, Father Philip Callaghan. Philip. . .this is Jocelyn." That was it, but that was all Philip needed to hear as the young woman drew toa stop. Both women had dark hair and dark eyes, but there, the resemblance ended. Agent Marini had the olive complexion of her ancestors, while Jocelyn Ramsey was fair-skinned. Agent Marini was statuesque, where her best friend was diminutive. One could have been a sultry screen goddess, while the other was the girl next door. Just the type of girl Ian needed.

Jocelyn nodded with a faint smile, replying with more than a hint of a Southern accent, "It's nice to meet you, Father Callaghan. I see you've met Danae. . .my evil twin. I'm the good twin." Agent Marini rolled her eyes, but said nothing, obviously picking up on the tension and the awkwardness between the two former lovers. It was a strange situation. . .how exactly did you react in a time like this? Philip studied the girl's face. She looked younger than her thirty-two years, aside from the strands of silver in her hair.

She also looked strained. Tired. Her eyes shifted from Philip to Danae to Ian, back to Philip, then back to Ian. Yes. Her eyes kept returning to Ian. The silence grew, and with it, the tension. Danae Marini shifted slightly beside the petite woman, then looked to Philip. She felt it, too, then. The priest said after a long, and very uncomfortable, silence, "It's a pleasure t' meet th' lass who tamed m' wild cousin. Shall we go? I think Ian needs t' sit down again before he _falls_ down."

That snapped everyone out of whatever plagued them, and Jocelyn said, "Of course, of course. Danae, I think we should take Ian back to the hotel, and then, have the prescriptions for his painkillers filled. Give him a chance to rest. What about you, Father Callaghan? Do you have a place to stay?" The question was polite, just the sort of thing his mother would have praised, but Philip could see the anxiety in her eyes. She was hoping he would say 'yes,' and he didn't blame her. She didn't know him, and had no reason to trust him, aside from his status as Ian's cousin.

Thus, he smiled as he answered, "Oh, that won't be necessary. Agent Marini has already offered me a ride t' m' hotel, but I do thank ye for th' offer. C'mon, Ian. Agent Marini, would it be possible for Ian t' ride in th' front on th' way t' th' hotel? I think it would be better for his ribs if he could stretch his legs, rather than be cramped in th' back seat." The FBI agent nodded immediately, wrapping her hand around Ian's forearm, and leading him toward the exit of the prison. The paperwork had been signed. . .Ian was now officially in the custody of Agent Danae Marini, as specified by Andrew Mueller. That worthy gentleman had other obligations, but promised he would check in with Philip later. He wanted more information about the Legacy/Luna Foundation. Philip would do what he could.

In the meantime, he fell into step beside Jocelyn. He had to give her credit, not just for her manners, but her attempts at making conversation. She asked, "Is it too soon to ask questions about Ian when he was a little boy?" From in front of them, Philip heard Ian groan in frustration (at least, he hoped it was just frustration), and a bright smile flashed across the pleasant young face as Jocelyn added, "Well. Maybe later." The brief exchange gave Philip hope. They needed to get past the awkwardness if they were to work together. And they had to work together, if they wanted to get their daughter back.

"Sure. . .'cause I wanna hear those stories, too. I'm especially curious about what habits and mannerisms Annie got from her father," Agent Marini answered as they stepped out into the sunshine. She paused, then added, "Oh yeah, and just to let you know, Ian. . .Josie and I went shopping yesterday, and got you the essentials, plus some clothes. Drawstring sweatpants, jeans and slacks a size larger, to avoid pressure on your ribs."

Philip raised his eyebrows at this last comment. Okay, now he was officially impressed! Ian didn't answer immediately. He had tipped his face back, allowing the sun to beat down on him, and the wind to ruffle his hair. Then again, Philip didn't really think he needed to say anything. His expression said it all. After a moment, he replied, "Thank you. . .has there been any news?" Typical Ian. Shift into business when he felt uncomfortable. Then again, he was an alpha male. . .twas how they operated. Still, Philip rolled his eyes in exasperation, which made Jocelyn smile. He was looking forward to getting to know her. . .God knew he could use all the help he could get in taking care of his cousin!


	12. Telling Tales

Yes, another chapter, and relatively quickly! It would have been ready sooner, but I was also trying to find a diskette with another work in progress. (And Mat, the scene you've been requesting isn't in this chapter. Just be patient). Consider this a transition chapter, and the fun starts in the next chapter. No real author notes for this section, just a reminder that the denizens of the San Francisco Legacy House don't belong to me, except for Kristen Julia Rayne. Alex, Derek, Kristen, Julia, Nick, Rachel, Kat and Philip belong to Trilogy and MGM. And of course, Ian, his team, Ben, Riley, Patrick, Abigail, and Agent Sadusky don't belong to me either.

Chapter Eleven

Telling Tales

On the whole, Ian Howe was having both a good and bad day. . .and the negatives pretty much equaled the positives. He could list the negatives in his mind. The meeting with Jocelyn was, to put it mildly, anticlimactic. Something that disturbed him greatly. And he hurt like hell. Philip would no doubt tell Jos all the embarrassing stories about him when he was a kid that he could remember. He was worried sick about Annie and Cam. Two more people knew about what led Ian on the hunt for the Templar Treasure, which to his mind was two people too many.

On the positive side. . .well. . .he was out of jail, and in the sunlight. More or less. And simply being out of jail. . .after being inside for all these months, he had forgotten what it felt like. There was so much room, in the outside world. So much space. Odd, the things you take for granted. . .even the simple freedom of riding in a car, with the wind in your hair. At the moment, he was relaxing in the rental car that Danae and Jos were using while they were in the city. At the urging of the other three, he was sitting in the front passenger seat. He supposed they figured it would be more comfortable that way. And it was.

But what wasn't so comfortable was Jocelyn's silence. She had been very quiet, aside from a few odd comments here and there. Ian was relieved at first. . .it bought him time. He really didn't know what to say to her. He wasn't ready to tell her the whole truth about the Declaration. . .and the more he thought about it, the more he realized Pip was right about that. Sooner or later, Jos would find out what really happened. . .too many people knew the truth. So what else was new? Ever since they reached adulthood, Pip was almost always right. Damn him. He was worse than Cam about being right. Cam was right almost as often as Pip was, and Michael was somewhere between the two.

There were factors, other than what to say to his former lover. Seeing Jos again a few days earlier, when she came to tell him about Annie and Cam. . .seeing her again had brought back everything. . .all he felt for her. Which was why, of course, his memories of their time together came surging back. Seeing her now caused a dull ache in his chest. He missed her so much. . .and yet, he wasn't prepared for the jolt of desire that passed through his body when he saw her approaching. It was easier, for now, for him not to acknowledge these feelings.

Still, he found himself quietly watching her, noting changes he missed in their two previous meetings. She'd put on weight, which was a good thing. She was always too thin. After she became pregnant with Annie, Ian's entire team began to realize just how thin she had been. Ian smiled in spite of himself, remembering how the lads fussed over her as her pregnancy advanced. Was she gaining enough weight, was she warm enough, did her food taste all right? An empress couldn't have received more love and devotion than Jocelyn during those months.

His smile widened as he continued to watch her in the rear view mirror. Her hair was still dark brown, but there were strands of silver now. There were a few more lines around her mouth, but she could still pass for someone in her mid-twenties. Then there were her eyes. Her eyes seemed weary. Maybe it was the burdens she had been carrying ever since the kidnappings. He didn't know. Maybe it was even raising a little girl alone for the last eight years. Women had been doing it from time immemorial. And yet. . .

And yet, he still felt guilty. He set out to protect the two women he loved most, and he did that. But what was the cost? Ian shook his head. Too many fears, too many questions. No answers, and the line of thought was giving him a headache. Again, he looked into the rear view mirror. Jos was staring out the window, her face unguarded. She looked angry and scared and determined. To anyone who didn't know her, her expression was solemn, but serene. Ian, however, could still read her. He saw the anger in the set of her mouth. . .the determination in the tightness of her jaw. And the fear was in her eyes, where it could always be found.

At least until Danae started teasing her. Jocelyn once told him that he had a devastating smile. As far as he was concerned, her smile was just as devastating to him. And that smile returned, full force, as soon as Danae started teasing her about. . .actually, he wasn't even sure what they were talking about. It seemed likely that the source of the discussion was an inside joke between the two friends. And in some ways, just listening to the pair was a revelation for Ian. He had never seen her interact with other women.

Certainly, he knew about her flatmate, Lil. She often mentioned the somewhat older girl. However, he, and the others, never met Lily. Nor did they really see her interacting with other women. They. . .really, they had her all to themselves. Powell observed once, after they watched _Peter Pan_, that Jos was their Wendy. They were the Lost Boys, and she was their Wendy. Of course, that led to jokes about the vampire movie, _The Lost Boys_. Along with _X-Men_, Shaw loved vampire movies, and swore that the two best screen vampires were Christopher Lee and Gary Oldman. Ian grinned, remembering the laughter which accompanied debates about the best film vampires.

He was, therefore, startled when Danae asked, "So, what makes you smile like that, hmm?" Ian jolted, jostling his injuries, stealing his breath away and making his head ache all over again. He leaned his head back and bit his lower lip to keep from gasping. Danae, thankfully, didn't ask him to waste his breath by answering idiotic questions like, '_are you all right_?' Instead, she kept driving, but not without an apologetic glance in his direction.

Once he was capable of speaking, Ian replied, "Just thinking. Never got to see Jos interacting with other women." Bollocks, he hated how breathless he sounded! Hated showing any weakness. It didn't matter that it was Jocelyn, Philip, and Danae who saw the weakness. . .allies and people he trusted. He didn't really know Danae that well. He trusted her with his daughter and with Jos. His own vulnerability, however. . .that was another story. It was hard enough to let down his guard with Jos, even after their first night together. Danae? She was just as scary as Jocelyn, just in a different way.

However, unlike Jocelyn, Danae couldn't read his mind. Not yet, at least. She asked now, sounding curious, "What do you mean? I mean, surely the other guys had girlfriends?" Ian thought about that, then slowly shook his head. None that he knew about, at least, and his team was rather close-knit. His guess was that they had female companionship, but nothing like his relationship with Jocelyn. Danae continued, "Well, that explains a lot." Ian frowned. . .what, exactly, did that mean? The agent explained, "Josie is a little shy at first around the guys, but once she gets their measure, she gives as good as she gets."

"That sounds about right," Ian murmured, glancing at Jos in the rearview mirror, "she was pretty quiet around the lads at first. In fact, she actually seemed afraid of Shaw, up until he let it slip that he was a fan of the _X-Men _comics. I remember, her eyes lit up and the next thing I knew, they were talking about Magneto and Professor Xavier as if they'd known each other for years!" Danae laughed softly. Ian continued, "She was afraid of him at first, and by the time she came back to the States, Shaw would have died for her. . .would have killed for her."

"Did that ever scare her? The knowledge that Shaw was willing to kill for her?" Danae questioned in a low voice. Unspoken was the fact that it would frighten her. Not from a fellow agent, because her life was literally in their hands. But Jocelyn wasn't an agent, and neither was Shaw. So her question was a good one. . .a very good one. Ian thought of the past, thinking of the conversations he overheard between his closest friend and his lover. He thought about the conversations he had with them individually. And very slowly, he began to shake his head. No. No, now that he thought about it. . .

"I think it may have disturbed her, in the beginning. I know it disturbed me. But by the end. . .by the end, she accepted it. Accepted that it was part of whom he was, and accepted it as the sign of devotion to her that it was. The knowledge that he thought she was worth that kind of sacrifice, the knowledge that he was that willing to protect her. . .in some ways, I think Derek did more for her self-confidence than anyone else. He could be cruel and he could be callous. But once he decided you were worthy of his trust and devotion, there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for you," Ian explained. He paused, wincing a little. . .was probably talking too much, but it took his mind off other things.

Once the pain ebbed a little, he went on, "No, I never really saw her interacting with other women. With children, yes. . .I saw her with girl-children. Even before she became pregnant, I always loved to watch her with children. She's so. . .protective of them, for one thing. Perhaps it was because she came so close to dying when she was a child, in that accident. But she was always the one comforting a crying child who was lost. So no, I never saw her around other women. And now. . . I can't quite help myself, watching the two of you together. The way you play off each other. . .how utterly comfortable she is with you."

"Well, it wasn't easy. . .but my mom always says, nothing worth having is easy. And from what I hear, you have yourself to thank for that," Danae replied. The Englishman frowned, not understanding. What did she mean by that? The agent explained, "I was the agent assigned to her, after she returned to the United States. . . thanks, I'm told now, to Shaw's 'tip' to Scotland Yard and the FBI." Ian couldn't help grinning at that. Danae added, a bit sourly, "Yeah, well, don't look too pleased with yourself. You didn't see her expression when she found out why I sought her out." Ian could imagine. Oh, could he imagine!

"For what it's worth, you have my thanks for watching after her. No matter how it began, I know you care for her. Both her and Annie. Sisters couldn't be closer," he told the agent. Danae looked at him quickly, but said nothing. Ian guessed that the conversation was making her nervous, and so he changed the subject, asking, "You know, I often thought. . .often wondered what my mother would have made of Jocelyn. There are times when it's hard for me to recall her face. I was fifteen when she and my father were killed. I can't remember her face. . .I can't remember my father's face. I can hear their voices. But. . ."

"I'm sorry. I guess you and Josie have that in common. Losing both parents at the same time, I mean. Were your parents murdered, too?" Danae asked. Before he could answer that, she added, "Never mind. . .not my business. I guess I think like an investigator, even when I'm not working on a case." Ian shook his head, smiling. While some of the bitterness remained, because there was no reason for his parents to die, more than twenty-five years passed since their deaths, and he could talk about it, mostly.

"They weren't murdered, no. It was an industrial accident. . .management cut corners with safety, and my parents paid the price for it. There's no need to apologize for asking questions. It's what you do for a living, after all," he replied. Ian wasn't proud of how he reacted to his parents' deaths. His parents had been good people. However, he also wouldn't deny what he had done. That, more than his actual screw-ups, would have made his parents truly ashamed of him. They raised him better than that. They raised him to take responsibility for himself, for his mistakes. He wouldn't betray them by doing anything else.

"Still. . .you were fifteen years old. Just a child yourself. That's something that Josie says sometimes. She was legally an adult when her parents were killed, twenty years old. And unlike you, she didn't have the responsibility of a younger sibling," Danae pointed out. Ian shook his head. He wasn't in the habit of using his experiences as a youngster as a measuring stick for suffering. Losing her parents, especially in such a violent and horrific way, devastated Jos, and that was to be expected. Just like the accident that nearly killed her. Besides, he had Aunt Norah. Or rather, Cam did.

There were other people who were injured in the accident. Some were even killed, based on Jocelyn's fuzzy memories. She didn't know for certain, as her mother refused to talk about the accident. But yes. Other people were injured. Some more severely than Jocelyn. But it didn't make her suffering any less. She was just a child. The others involved were largely adults. And Ian knew Jocelyn, loved Jocelyn. . .he didn't know the other people involved. That made all the difference in the world. The other lads felt the same way. He remembered seeing Charlie Powell's expression once, while Jocelyn was finishing up dinner that night. Or was she baking cookies?

Either way, she was bent at the waist, her t-shirt becoming untucked and riding up her back, giving them a good look at the scars which resulted from the surgeries to repair her spine after the accident. Powell turned very pale, and bolted out of the room, with Shaw in hot pursuit. They knew about the scars. . .Ian better than the others, for he often kissed them during their bedroom gymnastics. But for the lads, it marked the first time they saw those scars, and for the first time, the accident was actually real to them. Entirely too real. A child when she nearly died. . .a legal adult when her parents did die.

"Legally an adult or not, she was still very young. And for all that she grew up too quickly, because of the accident, in some ways, she was still very, very young when we met. She makes a lot of the fact that she had no common sense, and ended up in a bad part of London after she had been in England only for a few weeks. But that's a fallacy. Jocelyn made a mistake. . .a mistake that anyone not familiar with London could have made, whether they were English, American, or anything else. She made a mistake, and she learned from it," Ian commented. He glanced at Jocelyn again in the rearview mirror. She looked like she was half asleep. However, he was careful to keep his voice low. She had a long reach, and Philip was quite capable of helping her by smacking him, if he thought it was warranted.

"**Thank you**! I was wondering if I was the only one who thought that, after I heard the story!" Danae muttered. Ian grinned at her. The more time he spent around her, the more he liked this black-haired woman. She was pretty good at keeping Jos honest, rather than expecting too much out of herself. A bad habit Jos had, even when he knew her. Yet another thing she and Philip had in common. Endearing and annoying at the same time. Danae shook her head, murmuring, "You know, she's gotten better as the years have gone by, and she's grown up. But she's still too hard on herself in some respects. Especially where Annie is concerned. In some ways, she's flying blind. Her parents are dead, her grandmother is dead, and her cousin Pauline has no children, so Jocelyn has stumbled along, trial and error."

"Cousin Pauline has no children, unless you count Jocelyn," Ian corrected. Danae frowned, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. Ian explained, "I've never met the woman, but based on what I've heard from Jos, Pauline kind of sees her as the child she never had." Or so he decided while they were together. Cousin Pauline, in some ways, was just as unpredictable as Jos. Ian went on after a moment, "Still, I see your point. Has your mother ever met Jocelyn?" He hoped, if Danae's mother had met his former lover, the elder Marini female liked her daughter's best friend. If she didn't. . .it could get unpleasant. Not quite Declaration-unpleasant, but unpleasant enough.

"She's never met her, but I've told her all about Jocelyn. Sometimes, I'll ask Mom, if Jocelyn is struggling with Annie, and see what she thinks. Mom usually says that every child is different, and Jocelyn needs to figure out her own way. Now, her answer is different if Jocelyn is afraid that she's overreacting. Then, she'll say, '_get that girl on the phone_,' and tell her, _'listen to your instincts. That's why you have 'em_!' Josie's gotten better, though," Danae admitted. Yeah. Ian could imagine why she stopped listening to her instincts.

Danae went on, "I've never met Pauline, but I have met her husband, Will. He's a good guy. I talked Josie into going to Las Vegas with me one year. . .after I got Pauline working on her as well. Annie was six, and Josie, of course, wasn't interested in leaving her little girl. At the time, she didn't trust Cam enough to leave Annie with him. Didn't know him well enough. So, Pauline sends Will up to look after Annie, with the understanding that she'll join him in a few days." Ian frowned. Jos left their daughter with this Will? It seemed that Danae knew what worried him, for she added, "Jos knows him, and trusts him. So does Annie. Don't worry about that. Besides, Will has a sixteen year old daughter from his first marriage."

Well. That was different. He still didn't know this Will person; however, he trusted Jocelyn. Danae continued, "So, Josie and I went to Las Vegas. Had a great time. . .stayed in the Luxor. Totally blew her away. She kept doing the head-turning bit. . .I teased her about turning into Linda Blair in _The Exorcist_." Ian bit his lower lip, trying to keep from grinning. He could imagine what she said to _that_! He was right. Danae added, "Josie, of course, fired back with something along the lines of '_don't worry about me pulling a Linda Blair, unless I start with the projectile vomiting_.' Only Josie."

Ian wasn't so sure of that. It sounded like something one of his crew would have said. Then again, his lads and Jos often fed off each other. . .each picking up the other's slang and observations. He said as much to Danae, who said, raising an eyebrow, "Oh, really? Give me some examples. You can trust your cousin to keep Josie occupied. I wanna hear more about this!" It took Ian only a few seconds to decide. But it was only fair, after all. He was quite certain that Pip was even now telling Jos about the dreaded hair coloring incident. Fair was fair.

* * *

Actually, Philip was doing no such thing. Telling Jocelyn Ramsey about some of the visits between the cousins, yes. Telling her, in specific, about the green hair incident. . .no. Not yet at least. Although, Philip wouldn't discount it for later. If only to drive Ian absolutely barmy. He enjoyed doing that. Just call it retaliation for all the bombshells his dear cousin dropped on him during the last few days. One thing he wouldn't do, however, was break his promise. Ian asked him not to tell Jocelyn the truth about the Declaration. And he wouldn't. 

Not outright, at least. Dropping a few hints that not all was as it seemed? That was another matter entirely. Yes, it was terrible of him, and dishonest, but as Philip liked to tell the boys on his soccer team in San Francisco, he wasn't always a priest. Right now, he was telling the quiet young woman about a visit to England when he was about six. It brought back memories. He could almost see himself, peeking around the somewhat larger body of his brother as Michael and Ian confronted some village bullies.

"So what did these kids want? I mean, why were they giving you three a hard time?" she asked curiously, shifting her weight in the seat. It was the third or fourth time she changed position since the beginning of the drive. Yes, Philip noticed that. . .he was trying to observe her, without her realizing. So far, it seemed that it succeeded. It was hard to be certain, as she gave so little away. Maybe she did see. How could he know for certain? He couldn't. All he could do was try.

Right now, however, the lady was waiting for an answer, and Philip was raised not to keep ladies waiting. He replied, "I'm honestly not sure what they wanted. I'd be very surprised if _they _knew what they wanted, come t' that." She actually laughed, a real laugh, the first one he heard out of her since they met. Philip grinned and continued, "In any event, there they were. M' brother and m' cousin, standin' side by side, protectin' me from th' village bullies. Cam was back at th' house. . .he was three at th' time, I think. One of the boys hit Ian. And I got mad." Her eyebrows lifted and Philip explained sheepishly, "Turnin' th' other cheek isn't an option when yer six years old and yer favorite cousin has just been attacked."

"I don't think it's an option, period, when you're defending your family," came the quiet response. Philip didn't know what to say to that. Who was he to tell her that she couldn't do what she deemed necessary to get her daughter back, to do what had to be done to protect Annie in the future? How could he say anything, when so many times, Derek defended Rachel's right to sell out the Legacy, if it meant protecting Kat? And how far would his own mother have gone to protect him or Michael, or the other children? How far would Aunt Linda have gone to protect Ian and Cam?

"I wouldn't imagine so, no," Philip finally said. She gave him a vaguely apologetic grin, one that said, '_I'm sorry I lashed out at you_,' and he smiled back at her, to show that no harm was done. He went on, "Like I said, I got mad, ran out from behind Michael, and started poundin' on th' kid who hit Ian. By this time, Ian was back on his feet, and he tackled another kid who was about t' attack me." Jocelyn grinned once more, and Philip decided that like his cousin, she needed to smile more often.

"So the three of you caused a brawl. . .how did your mothers react?" she asked curiously. Little by little, as they talked, some of her caution melted. Philip couldn't be sure if it was simply her natural reserve, if she had bad experiences with priests in the past (that happened far too often for his liking), or if her daughter's abduction played into it. It could be any combination of the three, or all of them together. He just couldn't be sure, and until she was actually more comfortable with him, he wouldn't ask her. He wasn't like Derek, after all. He had definite lines that he wouldn't cross.

"Well, as ye can imagine, they weren't especially pleased wi' any of us at first. Then Michael told Mum and Aunt Linda that th' fight started because one of th' other boys hit Ian, and I jumped in t' defend him. He also told them that up until that boy struck Ian, they were both protectin' me. And I remember. . .Aunt Linda stared at me for just a moment. Then she knelt in front of me, put her hands on my shoulders, and she said, '_I'm very proud of you, PJ. Ye did th' right thing, defendin' your cousin, even though yer smaller than he is_.' Mum didn't really say anythin'. . .just hugged me. Nothin' was ever said about it again. None of us were punished," Philip explained.

"Kinda reminds me of something that happened when Annie was five," Jocelyn answered, "I'm not supposed to know about this. I was sick with a migraine, so Danae picked up Annie at school. While she was there, one of the older kids shot off her mouth. The sixth-graders often rotated to help with the kindergarteners, and this girl was part of the rotation. Wouldn't swear to it, but I think it was something along the lines of Danae being a dirty wetback, and. . .somehow, there was an insult to me in there. Something along the lines of, '_well, everyone knows you're a sissy because you have two moms_' Or something." Philip cringed. _That couldn't have been pretty_. Jocelyn nodded, and continued, "Annie wasn't sure what that meant, but she could tell from this girl's tone that it wasn't nice. So, she attacked her, right in front of all the sixth graders, Danae, and the teachers. It took Danae and two teachers to separate them."

Philip had the mental image of a Shih Tzu attacking a Great Dane, and Jocelyn went on, "Once they had the two separated, Danae asked why Annie attacked her. Annie told her, including the bit about her having two moms, and Danae lost it. She told the teachers to wash that girl's mouth out with soap, and she would deal with Annie. Not real diplomatic, but there are just some lines you don't cross with Danae. So, she calms down Annie, and tells her, '_now, your mom's gonna tell you that you shouldn't fight, and that's true. But there are times when you can fight. When someone is picking on someone smaller than yourself. . .and when someone_ _insults your family_.' Of course, one of the younger teachers then got upset at Danae, because her comment wasn't politically correct. Those were her exact words, too. . .you aren't teaching her to be politically correct."

Yes, and Philip could just imagine what the black-haired agent said to that. He wasn't disappointed. Jocelyn told him, "Danae fired back, '_where I come from, lying about someone is just the same as insulting them. Which was exactly what that girl did. Even if Annie did have two mothers, which she doesn't, that little brat was way out of line. And I'm not the one who implied there was something wrong with it. . .that was your precious little bully_.' No one ever talked back to this teacher before, whether it was a student or a parent. Shut her up double-time. Danae finished cleaning Annie up, then brought her home. Like I said. I wasn't supposed to know about that."

"So why do ye?" Philip inquired. Jocelyn laughed softly. She cast an affectionate glance at the back of Danae's head, and not for the first time, it occurred to Philip that they were sisters in all the ways that mattered. Not unlike him and Nick. . .or, even more appropriate, him and Alex. The latter always forgave him for being whom and what he was. She never believed there was a need for forgiveness, no matter how much she missed him. But there was a bond between Jocelyn and Danae that was missing between him and even Alex. He wasn't sure what it was, yet, he couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it was there. Yes, it was there. And he would figure it out. Sooner or later.

"Because Annie told me. That night, she crawled into bed with me. I'm still not sure if she was looking for comfort, or trying to make me feel better. Aside from Danae. . .it was just us against the world, and Annie's pretty protective of me. Always has been," Jocelyn replied, her voice cracking a little as she spoke of her daughter. Philip put his hand on her forearm. Yes, he knew about how protective children could be. He learned that from Katherine, especially. However, he said nothing, allowing the woman to compose herself. After a moment, she cleared her throat, and, though her voice was still husky, she continued, "Anyhow, she asked what that meant. If she had two moms. She knew about racist epithets, but she was confused about the two moms bit."

Ouch. He couldn't imagine trying to answer that question! Jocelyn explained, "I finally told her I couldn't answer that. Annie asks, '_cause you don't feel good, Mommy_?' I had the tail end of a migraine. My head still ached unbearably, and when Annie gave me that excuse, I ran with it. At the time, I had a hard time admitting to my little girl that adults don't have all the answers. And I began to understand why my parents could never answer my questions about the Holocaust. How do you explain something like that, when you don't fully understand it yourself?"

Philip had no answer, and the pair fell silent. He chose not to ask if Jocelyn disciplined her daughter for fighting at school, even if she was defending the family honor. It really wasn't any of his business. Besides,by his reckoning, they would reach his hotel in another fifteen minutes or so. He asked, changing the subject, "So. . .did ye want t' hear about th' prank Michael pulled when Ian was twelve? What Ian calls th' '_green hair_ _prank_,' t' this day?" Jocelyn looked startled, then her eyes lit up. She nodded eagerly, and Philip began, "Well, it was like this. Ian wasn't quite t' the, 'I'm too cool for my little brother' stage, so he didn't like it when Michael acted like that. . ."

* * *

Philip privately thought of the confrontation between his small cousin and the older girl as similar to a showdown between a Shih Tzu and a Great Dane. He wasn't far wrong, but Derek Shaw wasn't sure he liked the idea of insulting a Great Dane. Since Annie was five during the confrontation in question, he was still alive. . .on the other hand, it was one of many things he discovered after his death the previous year. It made him glad he was alive at the time. If he was dead, he would have. . .he wasn't even sure what he would have done. 

But it angered him. The older girl was. . .how old was she? Eleven? Twelve? Something like that. After the confrontation with Annie, she left smaller children alone. Of course, part of that was being humiliated by a five year old in front of other sixth-graders. And her classmates didn't take too kindly to her hassling little kids.In high school, she got a taste of her own medicine when she was shoved into a locker by some upper-class students who saw freshman as existing only for the purpose of tormenting. It was just like the old saying went. What comes around goes around, and Derek thoroughly enjoyed watching that play out. Cruel? Unkind? Of course.

But he wouldn't try to deny it, either. He was what he was, and part of what defined Derek Shaw was his willingness to do whatever it took to protect the people he loved most in the world. Something he could no longer do, on this side of the mortal veil. So when other people did it for him, it gave him a vicarious thrill. Such as when Danae gave the verbal smackdown to that twittering teacher. Or when little Annie stood up to someone twice her age. He had been so proud of her. . .so terribly proud of her.

He was proud of Philip, too. It didn't really seem a contradiction to him. Philip had his own ways of fighting, and while it wasn't Shaw's way, they worked for Philip. That was all that mattered. Plus, Shaw understood that all kinds were needed in the world. What mattered was that Philip fought on his own terms. . .as he told the young ex-SEAL at one point, he also wanted to save the world. The difference was, he was doing it one soul at a time. Preventative medicine, as Ian called it. Shaw agreed. Preventative medicine. . .in some ways, Philip's work as a priest was far more important than the Legacy's. (And he would have thought that even if they hadn't driven Ian nearly insane) The Legacy dealt with a problem once it became a problem. Philip tried to prevent those problems becoming that serious.

Why couldn't Rayne and Boyle understand that? Despite his own brushes with the law, or maybe because of them, Shaw understood exactly what Philip was trying to do. He never had someone like Philip Callaghan while he was growing up. Would he have turned out differently? Shaw couldn't answer that. He could only see what was and what is, not what will be, or what could have been. Besides, Shaw wasn't especially interested in what might have been. It was a waste of time and energy. Time and energy that could be used for other purposes.

Such as watching over Annie and Cam. Fortunately, they had been left alone after the first two times Cam was beaten. Shaw didn't think it was due to any altruism on the part of their captors. They seemed to enjoy the use of psychological tactics. . .like the sort they were using against Jocelyn, with their refusal to make the ransom call. They weren't interested in money, Shaw was beginning to see. Only in torturing Ian and Jocelyn. Jocelyn was as much part of this as Ian was. They wanted to hurt her, just as badly as they wanted to hurt Ian. Some of the present was hidden from him as well. . .but not that. No. Not that.

Annie was awake at the moment, though still sleepy. Shaw allowed himself a gentle smile. In some ways, she was so much like her father. She was just as obstinate when it came to letting go. One good thing that came out of her brush with death as a child. . .Jocelyn knew when to stop, when her body couldn't be pushed any further. She learned the hard way that her body would shut down, whether she wanted it to or not. So, when Ian started taking foolish chances with his health, Jos always helped the lads and Shaw make sure it didn't go too far.

One such situation was the infamous event, which resulted in Ian having to rely on Jos to wash his hair. . .and more. Charlie Powell, for once, started it. He and Jos got into a rather heated conversation about when Powell could get the chocolate chip cookies she had been baking. All of the lads had that problem, though. They were impatient when it came to their sweets. . .and yes, Shaw included himself in that category. Jos insisted that they allowthe cookies cool, and Powell wasn't willing to wait.

It finally came to a stand-off in the kitchen, with Jos planting herself firmly in front of the cookies, and Powell trying to move past her. However, every time he moved, so did she, blocking him from the cookies. Powell finally got fed up, tackled Jos, and threw her over his shoulder. Jos had a healthy dislike for being upside down, and let out a scream that should have deafened any normal person (however, no one ever said that Powell was normal). Ian raced in when he heard his girlfriend scream and immediately rescued her. After Jos was safely deposited on the davenport, and out of trouble, Ian and Charlie began rough-housing.

Shaw was also drawn into the room by Jocelyn's scream, and helped her down from the davenport, while they watched the two on the floor tussle. They had done it a thousand times before. . .so Shaw wasn't worried. In fact, he laughed. Charlie was trying to pin Ian, so he could tickle him, and Ian kept squirming out of the hold. To this day, Shaw still didn't know what happened or how it happened. . .but somehow, while Ian was trying to squirm out away from Powell, he ended up dislocating his shoulder. Shaw was alerted when Ian suddenly went very still, then groaned in pain, rolling to one side with his injured arm pressed against his body.

Powell immediately released him, and Shaw ran to his side, as did Jos. True to form, she knelt at Ian's side, drawing his head to rest in her lap. Shaw had no idea what she thought that might do, but he wasn't about to tell her that she couldn't do it. Between Shaw and Powell, they got Ian to his feet and to hospital. His shoulder was put back into place, but he remained sore. There was no way he could wash his hair or clean up properly. Without speaking a word, Jos and the lads divided the tasks. . .she would wash his hair, while they took care of other needs.

Ian was more comfortable with that as well. He adored Jos, but there were certain things he just wasn't ready to share with her. On the other hand, Shaw and the others lacked the gentle touch and thoroughness needed to wash his hair properly. Ian grew to enjoy the daily ritual of washing his hair. . .Shaw often teased him about how he would fall asleep while Jos worked. And he did. . .and almost regretted it when he got his range of motion back again. Ian was fiercely independent, but that was one of the exceptions.

Where Jos was concerned, though, there were a lot of exceptions. Like Shaw, she took care of Ian whether he wanted it done or not. By the time he met Jos, Ian was mostly out of the shady dealings and dealing mostly with his legitimate businesses. It wore him down, and Shaw often worried about him. Jos would wink at him, put some sandwiches on a tray, along with a beverage of some kind, and carry the tray to Ian. It relieved him. . .and made him angry at the same time. Not with Jos, but with Ian. His anger would be diffused as soon as he walked into the room, to find Ian eating while Jocelyn massaged his shoulders.

He would finish his sandwich and slump forward, rubbing his hand over his eyes in exhaustion. Jos then would stop massaging his shoulders, wrap her arms around him from behind and kiss the top of his head. Shaw would watch in amazement as Ian drew her to sit in his lap. Only moments later, Ian would shuffle off to bed, looking exhausted. Shaw, without being asked, carried the tray back to the kitchen. Once he cleaned up, he would check on his friend and his boss. . .and almost always, Ian was sound asleep. The girl played dirty. Shaw supposed that was one reason he liked her so much.

She played dirty. Shaw thought about that once more. Right now, the playing field wasn't level. His family didn't know how why Cam and Annie were taken. . .nor did they know where they were taken. However, that would change. When it did, it wouldn't be Ian whom the kidnappers needed to worry about. He was dangerous enough, especially with his little girl and his kid brother involved. But Jos was far more dangerous. She was the quiet one. And like Philip, Ian's beloved cousin. . .well. It's like they said. It was the quiet ones you had to watch out for. Shaw knew Jos. . .and that was why he would bet on her. Every time.

* * *

In the beginning, Patrick Henry Gates wanted nothing more to do with Ian Howe, or anyone associated with him. He didn't have time, for one thing. His son was getting married to a nice girl, one who shared his passion for history. There was the redistribution of the Templar Treasure, and interviews to do. He left the last to Ben, Abigail, and Riley. . .Patrick had other things to do. Especially after he met Carolan. After he lost Ben's mother, Lily, Patrick didn't think he'd find love again. 

Carolan taught him otherwise. She taught him a great deal. . .including a belief in second chances. It was because of Carolan that Patrick began rethinking his hatred of Ian Howe. She was in her late thirties, not much younger than Ian Howe, and she had a past. It was something she was extremely honest about. She did a lot of things she wasn't especially proud of, something he learned when Carolan expressed her compassion for Ian. He had done things wrong, Carolan explained, but he wasn't evil. She had seen true evil. . .had lived with its stain for the last fifteen years. And Ian Howe wasn't evil.

Carolan was out of town right now. . .her younger sister was getting out of the hospital, and she wanted to be there for her. During the last fifteen years, ever since the event which sent Carolan to the dark side, the girl spun out of control. . .finally bottoming out a year earlier. She tried to kill herself by overdosing on drugs. Patrick's lady spent nearly every day, trying to atone for what she saw as her failure to protect her little sister. This was one time when Carolan had to be at her sister's side.

So, after their date, Patrick returned alone to his home. When Ben again invited him to stay with them for a few days, he accepted this time. The place seemed so empty with his lady, and there was no such thing as getting to spend enough time with his granddaughter. While Ben and Abigail were meeting with Jocelyn Ramsey and her best friend, Agent Danae Marini, Patrick took care of Betsy. He wished, not for the first time, that Lily could see their granddaughter. She was so beautiful. . .and so smart! Patrick had to laugh, remembering the 'contest' he had with his best friend when Ben was small.

Each man tried to best the other, bragging that their child was smarter or more talented than the other. It became downright ridiculous, with Allan claiming his daughter Tracy was teaching French at the local community college. . .when she was two. . .and Patrick similarly claiming that eighteen month old Ben was trying out for the high school track team. While he took care of Betsy (and Riley, come to that), Patrick told Riley stories about those long-ago days. It served to amuse him, and distract Riley from his worry that Jocelyn Ramsey was some kind of modern-day Lady Macbeth.

Now, the morning after that meeting, Patrick finally had a chance to ask his daughter-in-law about Dr. Ramsey. He inquired, "So, what's she like?" Abigail looked up from feeding Betsy (what looked like mashed bananas, but it was hard to be sure with baby food), and Patrick elaborated, "Jocelyn Ramsey. . .what's she like? You and Ben are still among the living, so it would seem she was hardly the Lady Macbeth Riley feared so much." Abigail rolled her eyes, carefully wiping Betsy's mouth.

"Anything but. . .she's actually. . . No, baby, you swallow that. . .you don't spit it out. Do you remember, Dad, in _Return of the Jedi_, when Luke asked Leia if she remembered her mother. . .and what she remembered? Do you remember what Leia said? Well, her description of her mother reminds me of Jocelyn Ramsey. She's sad. . . maybe not beautiful, but certainly not unattractive, either. And she's terrified out of her mind, for good reason. Her best friend. . .her best friend, I've learned, has a reputation for being something of a ball-buster, and for good reason. She was more hostile. Dr. Ramsey was confused at why we wanted a meeting, but not hostile," Abigail replied.

Hostile? How? His daughter-in-law replied to his unasked question, "She knows the whole story about the Declaration heist, Dad. She knows that Ben originally stole it. Agent Marini, I mean. And she warned us that if we take action of any kind against Ian, she'll see to it that every newspaper and blog will hear about it. I believe her, too." Patrick was a little wary, but he couldn't help admitting that he could see things from Agent Marini's perspective. Maybe it was because of knowing Carolan, maybe it was because time allowed the wounds of those days to heal. . .but he could understand her.

With that in mind, Patrick replied, "She's trying to protect her best friend, Abs. I'd say, too, that she's had more of an opportunity to talk with Ian Howe recently. Maybe she knows him better than we do. And even if she doesn't, her best friend shares a child with Ian Howe. By protecting him, she's also protecting Dr. Ramsey." Abigail looked on the verge of protesting this, but Patrick pointed out, "It's true. Whether they're together or not, they're still a family. Maybe Agent Marini understands this."

"I hadn't thought of that. I was just. . .so angry with Agent Marini. I suppose I never looked at it from her point of view. She was threatening us and. . .insulting us, really. And what really made me angry was that she didn't do it while Dr. Ramsey was around. It just. . ." Abigail shook her head, sighing. Patrick thought about what his daughter-in-law said. He wasn't that familiar with Agent Marini, aside from what Agent Sadusky said when he called, to let Patrick know what was happening with Ian Howe.

At last, he said softly, "It seems to me that Agent Marini probably waited until Dr. Ramsey wasn't around. Dr. Ramsey has enough to worry her. . .she didn't want to put her in the middle, any more than she already was." Abigail looked up from cleaning Betsy's face, and Patrick explained, "I can understand why you're angry with her, Abs. But she's an FBI agent, and you know there were other FBI agents involved. The fact that Riley and Ben got off scot-free probably didn't set too well with them."

"I. . .I hadn't thought of that. I was just too relieved that none of us would. . .that our lives wouldn't be ruined," Abigail murmured. Patrick said nothing, and after a moment, his daughter-in-law said, "I didn't answer your question. You asked me what Jocelyn Ramsey is like. She's sad. . .but also determined. She. . .she brought a doll that Ian had made for her, for their daughter. Annie's favorite doll. Her name is Josephine, because it has dark hair like Jocelyn. She gave him the journal of one of her ancestresses, and from that, he had a doll made, like the ones that pioneer women made for their daughters. She. . .the doll. . .has black hair, because he was positive that Annie would inherit her mother's dark hair."

That gesture touched Patrick. It was something he would have done for Lily. . .or maybe even Carolan. And much to his surprise, he realized that he now had two things in common with Ian Howe. Abigail went on, "She asked what we could do for her. She wasn't nasty. . .but. . .she couldn't figure out what we could do for her, for her daughter, what we could do that the police and the FBI couldn't do. She had every right to ask that question, and I couldn't answer her. I gave her some silly excuse that I could make up flyers, and I can. . .but. . ."

_What can you do for me? Why would you want to do anything for me? What are you getting out of this_? That was what Carolan said. That was what she would ask, if she was in Jocelyn Ramsey's position. Patrick murmured, "That's why Agent Marini was there. Not just to look after her friend. . .but to get those questions answered." Abigail frowned, not understanding, and Patrick explained, "I told Carolan about your meeting with Dr. Ramsey. She told me that Dr. Ramsey would ask three questions. . .what can you do for me, why do you want to do anything, and what are you getting out of this?"

Abigail's frown deepened, but now it was a frown of concentration. However, rather than commenting on his statement, his daughter-in-law observed, "Carolan really doesn't like us very much, does she?" Patrick grimaced. He really wished she hadn't asked that question. It wasn't that Carolan disliked them. . .well, she was pretty much okay with Abigail and Ben. However, she couldn't stand Riley. Patrick didn't have a problem with the kid. He was a bit on the annoying side, but he wasn't a bad kid. But Carolan barely tolerated him.

"She doesn't dislike you. She just has very. . .she's been through hell, and that's colored the way she sees the world," Patrick answered finally. He wouldn't tell Abigail or Ben about what Carolan and her sister went through. It wasn't his place to tell them. Instead, he steered the conversation back to her meeting, asking, "So, the next time Riley refers to Dr. Ramsey as Lady Macbeth, what will you tell him?" Abigail's eyes flashed with sudden anger, and Patrick smiled to himself. Yeah, his daughter-in-law really didn't like it when Riley made comments like that, no matter how clever he thought they were. .

"There is nothing even remotely Shakespearean about her. She's just an ordinary young woman who made. . .you know, I won't even say that she made a mistake. She fell in love, and a child was born from that love. Now that child is in danger, and Jocelyn is willing to do whatever it takes to bring her little girl home. That doesn't make her Lady Macbeth, it doesn't make her evil. It makes her a mommy and a human being," Abigail replied.

Patrick smiled at her, replying, "If that's the worst thing you have to say about her, then I'd say by offering to help her, we're doing the right thing. Now. . .why don't you take that little lady upstairs. Or better yet, I'll do it, then call Carolan." He wanted to make sure his lady reached the hospital safely. Maybe even talk to Jade, if the girl was up to it. She was more than a decade younger than Carolan. . .that made her just a girl, to his eyes. Abigail just smiled and carefully placed his granddaughter in his arms. Patrick drew her close, nuzzling the top of her head. It didn't matter how many times he came over and spent time with Betsy. He would never get tired of holding her. Never.

* * *

Across the continent, a young woman named Alexandra Moreau-Rayne was reading the newspapers, while she waited for the results of her search to come up. She was a wife, a mother, a researcher. Like her entire House, she knew about the connection between Ian Howe and Philip Callaghan. She had no use for the blond thief, but Philip loved his cousin. And Alex? Alex loved Philip. Not the way she loved Derek. . .god, she would never love anyone the way she loved Derek. But Philip was like her brother. After losing her dear friend Kristen Adams more than five years earlier, and nearly losing Derek later that year, Alex took no chances with the people who mattered to her. 

It wasn't entirely the same thing, since Alex and Derek were married two years after he awakened from his coma. But losing Kristen hurt her deeply, almost as much as losing Julia. After Derek woke from his coma, and began remembering, Alex became ferociously protective of him, in a way she wasn't before. It wasn't the first time she faced losing him. But before. . .before was different. He hadn't admitted having feelings for her in the past. She couldn't stand to lose him. Not again. Not now that she finally knew he had feelings for her.

They had one child. . .Kristen Julia Rayne. Kristy was eighteen months old, and Derek adored her. Named for her mother's two best friends, Kristy was already showing signs of being as brilliant as her father. . .and Alex feared that her little girl would inherit the Sight from both parents. However, she also had faith that Kristen and Julia would watch over their namesake. Alex smiled. Faith. Philip would be proud of her.

It was because of Kristy that Alex began a quiet inquiry into the abduction of Anne-Marie Ramsey and Cameron McDowell. Her daughter was the center of her life. . .Kristy and Derek. She couldn't imagine being in Jocelyn Ramsey's position. As the wife of a Legacy precept, especially one like Derek Rayne, Alex was in a vulnerable place. She was used in the past to hurt Derek. . .much like Jocelyn Ramsey could be used to hurt her former lover. She and her daughter both could be used to hurt Ian Howe.

And whatever he did wrong, his daughter didn't deserve to pay for his crimes. It was little Annie Ramsey she was reading about now, and her lips pursed as she looked at the picture of the child. She reminded Alex rather painfully of another eight year old girl. Katherine Corrigan, when they first met the college student. They looked so similar, though Kat's hair was more of a chestnut brown, rather than auburn, like Annie's. And the little girl had dark green eyes, according to the news story, while Kat had blue eyes.

Still. . .there was enough of a resemblance to make Alex's blood run cold. Kat called earlier in the week, wanting to know if Philip was all right. They remained friends, even after Philip left San Francisco, once and for all. He sent her postcards from everywhere he went, Kat told her, postcards and email, once Kat had an email account. Alex was the only one who knew about the correspondence. Nick wouldn't understand, Kat murmured, and Derek. . .it would just hurt Derek. Knowing that Philip was keeping in contact with Kat, but not with him. Alex wasn't entirely happy about keeping that secret from her husband, but Kat rightly pointed out that Derek kept secrets of his own.

Kat's correspondence with Philip was one secret. Her research was another secret. She really didn't think Derek would mind. . .Nick, however, would. And she didn't want to create tension between her husband and her friend. Not when Derek already felt guilty about coming back from the dead, after giving his precept ring to Nick. If Derek knew, he wouldn't have to keep it a secret from Nick. Simple, right? Not so simple. Alex began this research, because she loved Philip, and wanted to help him, in any way she could. . .and because she was a mommy.

She wasn't expecting to be shut out of the computer database. This was the third time the system locked up on her. The only time the system locked up, forcing a reboot, was when there was something someone didn't want her to know. During her three years of marriage to Derek, Alex came to learn that if she was locked out of the database, it wasn't Derek's doing. He hated computers. No, this came from on high. William Sloan remained trapped in a Hell dimension of some kind. The Ruling House still had no precept, to speak of, but its unofficial head was Sir Edmund Tremain. Alex grimaced. Which didn't bode well at all.

"Kristy, tell Mummy that she shouldn't make faces like that. A beautiful lady should never look like that," came the familiar, Dutch-accented voice of her husband. Alex looked up with a smile, to see Derek approaching with Kristy in his arms. Actually, that was putting it wrongly. . .their daughter was in truth tucked under one arm. Kristy didn't mind. On the contrary. She was always happy when Daddy carried her, no matter how he did it. Alex suspected that Derek could carry her upside down, and Kristy would enjoy it. The researcher sat back, smiling at the two most important people in her life.

"Well, my love, I wouldn't grimace if the system hadn't locked up on me. Again. Hello, baby! Oh, you're nice and clean and smell so pretty! Did you get a bath? Hmm? Did you get a bath?" Alex asked, holding out her arms to her daughter. Derek shifted her, then swung Kristy toward Alex one, two, three times before finally passing her to her mother. The little girl squealed with delight, and Alex melted, as she always did. Even now, eighteen months after her baby girl's birth, she still had a hard time believing that Kristy really existed, and that she was really married to Derek. After all these years. . .

"The system locked up on you? What are you researching?" Derek asked, frowning. He knew as well as she did what it meant when the system locked up. Unfortunately, she couldn't protect him any longer. Alex could only hope that he was able to deal with Nick. However, she took advantage of the few moments she had before answering, inhaling the scent of her daughter's soap and shampoo and baby powder. Alex eyed her husband with a critical eye. He didn't have that sexy rumpled look he always had after trying to give their mischievous daughter a bath, which meant. . .

"Aunt Rachel gave you a bath, didn't she? I thought so. . .Daddy looks entirely too neat," Alex replied, rubbing noses with Kristy. The little girl squealed again, waving her pudgy arms happily, and Alex told her husband, "I was looking up Ian Howe. Thought I might be able to help Philip." Much to her surprise, Derek looked guilty, rather than distressed or even angry. Uh-oh. She always worried when he looked like that. It usually meant that there was something she didn't know, and probably should.

"Alex. . .I have not wished to discuss this. Much less when Nick has been around. However, he is helping Rachel clean up the bathroom. I am not certain, but I have reason to believe that Philip's cousin is one of ours," her husband replied. Alex blinked, then she actually processed what he just said. One of ours. One of the. . .? She looked up at Derek, and he nodded slowly, explaining, "I believe that is why you are being shut out of the Legacy database. If my suspicions are correct, then. . ."

"Then there's a good chance that Ian Howe stole the Declaration of Independence, and was seeking the Templar Treasure for the Legacy," Alex completed. Her husband nodded. Which also explained why he didn't want to say anything to Nick. The former SEAL was thoroughly disgusted with Philip for his loyalty to his family. Unfortunately, the Irish priest didn't help his own cause by pointing out to Nick that his own family had been involved with illegal doings (in more ways than one), and yet Nick remained loyal to them. He didn't help his case, but he was right.

"Precisely. Ian Howe's real name, of course, is Ian McDowell," Derek pointed out. Alex nodded. Yes, she knew. Her husband went on, "In the records of Albany House, sent here after Charles Bannion's destruction, references were made to a young man who was recruited in the mid-1980's by Sir Edmund Tremain in England. A young man named Ian McDowell. A coincidence? Possibly. However, the youth in question was in his early twenties. . .just a few years older than Philip. Philip's cousin, Ian, is three years older than he is. If my suspicions are correct, then more questions are raised."

"Such as, if he was seeking the Templar Treasure for the Legacy. . .why? And why did they let him go to jail, rather than coming up with a good cover story? He fell on his sword to protect the Legacy. . .what is he getting in return?" Alex asked. Derek nodded, his face grim. Alex looked again at the picture of Annie Ramsey, murmuring, "His daughter has been kidnapped, along with his younger brother. God, Derek. . .I can't imagine what he's going through. What Annie's mother is going through." Alex shuddered, as she had been trying not to think about that. Jocelyn Ramsey was. . .

The thought occurred to them at the same moment. Derek breathed, "Her mother. Alex, liefje, try a back door. . .is the system rebooted yet?" Alex looked back at the monitor, her heart racing. Yes. She bobbed her head once, her fingers ready to move. Derek moved closer, as if to shield her from prying eyes, and murmured, "Type in Jocelyn Ramsey's name, and see if we can get more information about Ian Howe through her." Alex followed her husband's suggestion. . .and inhaled sharply when the results of her query came up.

"Mein Gott," Derek whispered, "there are times when I detest being right." Alex nodded numbly. How on earth did they deal with this? She was no longer worried about Nick finding out about her project. San Francisco House had far worse things to deal with. Derek murmured, "Alexandra, tell no one what we've found. I trust Rachel and Nick implicitly, but it's not they who concern me." Alex nodded in agreement. They could trust Rachel and Nick, and Kat, of course. . .but anyone outside their House was another story.

She asked, "What about Philip?" Derek didn't answer immediately. He was still staring at the screen. And when he did shake his head, Alex didn't argue. This was too big for them to deal with, and Philip had his own problems right now. It wasn't a matter of trust. . .at least, not as far as Alex was concerned. She would trust him with her daughter. But. . . She murmured, "Then for now, we've never seen this. Derek. . .what do we do? What _can_ we do?"

"I'm not certain, Alex. Whatever we must. The Legacy's mission is to protect the innocent. There may be some within this organization who have forgotten that, or who have forgotten that the mundane can be just as dangerous as the supernatural. But I have not forgotten that, and nor will I. For now. . .we simply watch and wait. There is nothing else we can do," Derek replied at last. He looked at Alex, and his precept's mask slipped, revealing the father and husband, then he said, "For now, I want only to hold my wife and daughter."

Alex left her chair, and slipped into his arms. Derek's embrace enfolded both her and Kristy, and the researcher hoped that across the continent, Jocelyn Ramsey at least had someone who could comfort her and ease her fears. Because Alex Moreau-Rayne did. . .and even with her husband and daughter safe in her arms, she was still terrified for them both. Especially now, knowing what she did about the organization which she served for all these years.


	13. Not Just a River in Egypt

Author's Note: Yes! Another update! Got the answers to a few questions in this chapter, and more questions posed. Got a few twists (one or two of which surprised me). And yes, Mat, I finally included the whole of the 'green hair prank' incident. Hope you all enjoy this chapter, because the fireworks start in the next!

Chapter Twelve

Not Just a River in Egypt

Jocelyn wasn't comfortable around ministers of any kind. Though she grew up in the Bible Belt, she had very little to do with pastors and preachers when she was very young. There were vague memories, from before the accident. . .but after? No. No, she couldn't remember ever going to church after the accident. She simply didn't know how to react to a priest, especially one as good-looking as Philip Callaghan. He was a few years younger than Ian. . .maybe thirty-eight or thirty-nine. His dark brown hair was graying, but his face remained youthful, and his blue-gray eyes shone with compassion and intelligence.

And she was unprepared to really interact with Ian. She was unprepared to. . .to have him in her space, so to speak. Yes, they were relatively close when she visited him in prison to tell him about Annie and Cam, but that was different. He seemed. . .toned down. Out of prison garb, his light blond hair shining in the light, Ian seemed more like the man she remembered. And most of all, she was unprepared for the way she felt when she saw him. He was moving stiffly, his face was bruised, and he looked exhausted. . .and all she wanted to do at that moment was take him home and tuck him into bed.

That surprised her. . .that sudden surge of protectiveness she always felt while they were together in England. When he was pushing himself too hard, and not even Shaw could get him to relax. Jos smiled in spite of herself. She would miss Shaw even more now. Once the pair realized they were on the same side, they joined forces. How was it that Danae put it when she told her friend some stories about Derek Shaw? Oh yeah. . .they made one helluva tag-team. And they did. Shaw would pick Ian up and carry him away from his desk if that was what it took. . .Jocelyn, on the other hand, would lure him away. Or, if worse came to worse, she would take food and beverages to him. That worked just as well.

He looked similar to how he did now. Exhausted. . .sometimes in pain, because he would sit in one position too long. Then, she would hustle him out of his chair and to bed, then tuck him in. Jocelyn always had to stay put. . .not because he wouldn't stay in bed, but because her nearness brought him comfort. That actually became one of her other nicknames, given to her by the guys. They called her their Wendy. . .Charlie Powell teased her sometimes, telling her that Ian seemed to view her as an oversized teddy bear, which gave rise to the nickname 'Teddi.' She whacked his butt with a towel for that comment. Shaw pointed out that she probably shouldn't do that again. . .Powell would enjoy it entirely too much. Shaw was right, of course. He usually was.

So yes. . .she was totally unprepared to deal with a vulnerable, wounded Ian. In some ways, he was like an injured animal, and extremely unpredictable. Caution had to be exercised. In the back of her mind, she knew that Ian was struggling with the kidnapping, just as she did in the first days after she returned from work to find her home in shambles and her daughter gone. He was also recovering from being beaten up in prison. But Ian was an adult, and Annie was a child. Annie had to be her first priority. That was the way it worked. Right now, Jocelyn didn't have the strength to hold herself together and look after Ian. She needed time to shore up her strength, so despite her wariness around him, Jocelyn welcomed the conversation with Philip. Besides, it gave her a new perspective toward her daughter's father.

Well, now she knew the story of Ian's hair being dyed green. In the backseat with Ian's cousin, Philip, Jocelyn could barely stifle her laughter. According to the Irish priest, it happened when he was nine, Ian was twelve, and Philip's older brother Michael was fourteen or fifteen. Like so many older brothers (and sisters), Michael Callaghan reached a point where he thought he was too cool to hang out with his younger siblings, or his somewhat younger English cousin. That wasn't how he put it, of course, but that was what it amounted to.

Ian didn't care for this attitude, and he immediately set to work, trying to put Michael in his place. That was his younger brother's phrasing, at least. Both younger brothers. . .Philip and Cam. Philip, wanting only for everyone to get along, tried to convince Ian that it wasn't such a big deal. Cam helped where he could, but he was only six. Ian, however, was having none of that. Even at twelve, he was already becoming very. . .er. . .stubborn. Philip paused at this point in the story, winked ever so slyly, and added, "Actually, Michael always said Ian could be a bit of a jackass." Then topped that comment off with sound effects.

Jocelyn couldn't help herself. . .she cracked up laughing. The priest was amazing at recreating the sound effects. Bet he spent a lot of time around children. The agents, and her co-workers, who had small children were often very good at sound effects. A quick glance out of the corner of her eye told her that Ian was glaring at Philip from the front seat. No doubt, he figured out what was being discussed, but Philip continued blithely, "Well, Michael finally got fed up wi' Ian constantly tryin' t' get him t' pay attention, and decided it was payback time." Oh dear. She could already see the outside glimmers of where this was going. It sounded like a prank that Charlie Powell might have pulled. Philip explained, "While Ian and I were at th' village store, Michael stole the shampoo Ian used and put green food colorin' in it, along wi' another compound. I didna know what it was then, and I still don't."

Definitely an '_oh dear_' moment there! Now Ian was turning bright red, whether from embarrassment or annoyance, Jocelyn couldn't tell yet. Philip continued to ignore his cousin's high wattage glare, and explained, "It was this mystery compound which caused all th' trouble. That night, because we were s'posed t' be goin' out, both of us had t' take showers." _Oh, no. He didn't_. Philip evidently figured out what she was thinking, because he answered with a grin, "Oh yes. Yes, he most certainly did. Aunt Linda and Uncle Joseph heard his yell all th' way downstairs. There was Ian. . .his hair a rather interestin' shade of green."

By now, Jocelyn was leaning against the door, immensely grateful that the locks were automatic. She might have fallen out of the car, otherwise. It took her several tries before she could ask, her voice still shaking with laughter, "So, how did your parents react to this prank?" She knew how she would have reacted, if it was Annie who pulled the prank. . .shut herself in her bedroom until she could bring her giggles under control. Especially if Danae was the recipient of the prank in question.

"Ye know, I don't remember. . .I really don't. The good thin' was, because of Michael's prank, Ian got out of dressin' up and havin' t' go at all. Of course, he also couldn't leave the house for several days, until most of the dye was out of his hair. But for months after that, he still had a greenish tinge t' his hair. I told my friend Alex about that, after extracting a secrecy promise from her. All I could see was her tellin' Kat about it, and Kat decidin' t' use it on Nick after he did somethin' t' annoy her," Philip admitted. Kat? Nick? Some of Jocelyn's confusion must have been obvious, for the priest explained with a sad smile, "Kat is Katherine Corrigan, the daughter of one of our associates. And Nick. . .he's a former friend of mine. . .an ex-SEAL."

"Oh, I've heard about the SEALS. One of the agents in the Charlotte field office is a former SEAL. He doesn't talk about his missions, but he has told me about some of the crazy stuff they do to blow off steam," Jocelyn answered. She paused, then asked, "I take it that things went downhill between you and Nick?" Philip nodded, looking unhappy but resigned. Jocelyn weighed her words. . .she didn't know what happened between them. But at last, she said, "You know, it's been my experience that eventually, friendships worth saving get second chances. Maybe that will happen for you."

Philip just smiled at her, a sad, sweet smile, but his eyes drifted to Ian. He was leaning against the window, looking exhausted. And then Jocelyn understood. This Nick was angry with Ian. . .and now, he was angry with Philip because Philip was here, supporting Ian. She put her hand over Philip's and said quietly, "Like I said. Friendships worth saving. If he can't understand your loyalty to your family, then maybe you deserve a better friend than him. Danae and I hit a rough patch about three years ago, after I found out that there was more to the beginning of our friendship than I knew. But we got past it. She understood how betrayed I felt, but I had to understand a few things as well."

"Unfortunately, it isn't quite that easy, though I thank ye for yer words. There have been many times when I couldn't be there fer Nick. . .when my obligations t' the Church trumped other. . .involvements. He's never really been able t' understand that," Philip replied with a shrug that indicated resignation, rather than indifference.

Jocelyn bit her lower lip. While she wasn't raised in a religious household, she was taught to respect priests. As her father told her, priests made a huge commitment. They were committed to the people of their parish. . .so committed, that they took vows of celibacy. Her father regarded it as un-natural, but couldn't deny that such a vow took a great deal of commitment. So for this Nick character to expect Philip to disregard his commitments as a priest. . .she just didn't get that. It would be like her bosses expecting her to put her daughter second. That was one thing she made clear during the interview for her current job. . . Annie was in school, but she was still Jocelyn's first priority.

And in the end, there was nothing to say. They were pulling up in front of Philip's hotel. He scribbled something on a piece of paper, and handed it to her, saying, "There. That's m' cell phone number. Call me when ye get t' yer hotel, and I'll have m' room information by then." Jocelyn nodded, tucking it inside her blouse pocket. Philip added, his eyes sliding to his cousin, "And do somethin' fer me? Take care o' him? He likes t' pretend that he doesna need it, but I've never met anyone who needed other people so badly." Jocelyn nodded with a half smile. She would look after Ian, as much as he let her. Philip smiled at her, adding, "Well. . .do what ye can. And remember. . . we'll get Annie back. There is no other way this will end. We _will_ get her back."

With that, he was out of the car and circling around to remove his luggage. It wasn't much. A duffel bag and a backpack. Before heading into the hotel, he stopped off, reaching inside the car to squeeze Ian's shoulder. Then he disappeared inside the building, and Danae pulled away from the curb. Ian murmured, "There are times when I'm not sure if his faith annoys me or comforts me." Jocelyn barely held back a smile. Yes, she could just imagine. Ian had faith in himself (usually) and his men (always), but rarely in a Higher Being. It was hard to know how to react to a cousin who was a priest, and did have such faith.

Danae answered, "Be comforted, Ian. He has enough faith for both of you. Just like I have enough faith for myself and Josie. Now. What would you rather do first. . .go back to the room and lay down, or get some food?" With a smile, Jocelyn recognized her best friend's tone. That was Danae in agent mode, even if her questions weren't of the investigative nature. Danae caught sight of her smile, and glowered at her, warning, "Don't start with _me_, missy." Jocelyn merely smiled at her innocently. . .an attempt that was negated when a small giggle escaped her. There was some guilt, over responding to her friend's teasing. Danae sighed to Ian, "See what I have to put up with?"

Ian, wisely, chose not to answer that last question. Instead, he replied, "I would really, really rather return to the hotel and lay down. I can eat later. I'm afraid if I tried to eat now, I would just end up throwing up." She imagined so. His injuries aside, there was also the matter of his medication. Oh yes, and the nerves. Ian was likely about as uncomfortable with the current situation as she was. Danae cocked her head to one side, listening to Ian's request, then nodded. Jocelyn could tell from the way they were heading that her friend was heading back to the hotel. However, Ian wasn't as familiar with the route as she was. Ian continued, "Will the specifics of my release allow you to leave me in Jocelyn's custody while you're getting my prescriptions filled?"

"Well, no one said that Josie would be doing this alone. She'll have company other than you. Not that my boss, Mr. Mueller, or I think that you would do anything in the world to hurt Jocelyn, but we had to do something to keep Sadusky from causing huge trouble. He's already caused my field office enough trouble," Danae answered tightly, then explained, "Agent Sadusky is the one who made those comments about Southern agents being nothing more than redneck hicks. This, by the way, was right before one of his agents made a royal screw-up. Even so, Special Agent Carter was not impressed." Jocelyn winced. No, she didn't imagine so.

She explained to Ian, "Special Agent Carter, Danae's boss, is a Southerner. She was born and raised in North Carolina, leaving only long enough to go to college. She's been assigned to primarily southern states since she left Quantico after graduating from the FBI academy. And to demonstrate her passion for the South, her favorite bumper sticker says, '_American by birth, Southern by the grace of God_.' About two years ago, there was a miscommunication between the Charlotte field office, and the DC field office. Sadusky, when he called Special Agent Carter to chew her out, said something to the effect of, '_I shouldn't expect anything better out of a bunch of redneck hicks_.' Then they found out that the miscommunication was on the part of the DC office. Oops."

"FBI agents are human. . .we lose our patience and sometimes our cool. From what I've been told, Sadusky was under pressure from his end. But we were under pressure as well, and Special Agent Carter didn't appreciate the implication that her people were a group of knuckle-dragging inbred morons. . .especially when she found out that the error wasn't on our end. He's apologized, but she. . .you know, there's a saying. It takes time to build trust, and a second to destroy it. Because of that incident. She no longer trusts him. Really, most of my office didn't like him even before that. He just has one of those personalities," Danae added.

"Will doesn't like him, either. That has to do with a case they both worked about fifteen years ago, when Will was a rookie agent, and he refuses to tell me anything about it. Just says that the FBI is like any other organization. . .there are people who can get along with anyone, and others who. . .don't. Agent Sadusky falls into the latter category. That doesn't mean there isn't anyone who can get along with him. Just that the column for that category is much smaller," Jocelyn observed.

Ian was silent, then said, "That actually made sense." The two friends exchanged a smile as Ian went on, "So, what do we do now? I'm out of jail, to help figure out who took Annie and my brother. Do we get to work tomorrow, or is there some evidence, something I can work with now? While Pip and I were waiting for you, I was making a mental list of people who. . .have reason to dislike me. And dislike me enough to take it out on an innocent man and even more innocent child. . .while you're getting my prescriptions filled, I could start writing that list."

"Thanks. . .that would be a big help. Our agents are still going over the evidence they found in Jocelyn's house, and there's more data coming from the State Bureau of Investigation. There are people talking to Josie's neighbors, and the school, and Josie's work building," Danae answered almost absently. Jocelyn's eyes flew to her friend. Wait a minute? Did Ian even know that there were plans in motion to kidnap her as well?

From Danae's expression, it seemed she couldn't remember if she told Ian. . .or if Mr. Mueller told him. Their questions were answered a moment later, when Ian asked in a slow, deliberate voice, "What do you mean. . .Jocelyn's work building?" _Oh. . .damn_! Ian continued, still in that deliberate tone, "Did something happen on the day my daughter and brother were kidnapped? Was someone trying for Jos as well?"

Well. As her mother always used to say, in for a penny, in for a pound! Danae said quietly, "It seems likely. We're still investigating. But from what we've learned so far, the people who kidnapped Cam and Annie sent two bumblers to kidnap Jocelyn. They attacked contractors who took care of the office machines, and forgot to get the proper authorization. On top of that, the contractors they attacked were injured, but able to call in the attack, and give a good description of the would-be kidnappers."

She was pulling into the parking garage now, and added, "But we'll discuss that more later. Right now, we're going to get you upstairs, and put to bed. And get your mind out of the gutter, Ian. No funny business." In the rearview mirror, Jocelyn could see her former lover roll his eyes in exasperation. She bit her lower lip, greatly amused by his reaction. She knew what he was thinking. . .something along the lines of '_what, exactly, do you think I'm capable of doing right now?_' However, she knew that the discussion wasn't closed, and at some point, she and Danae would have to tell Ian all about the attempted kidnapping.

Once Danae parked the car, Jocelyn went around to the front passenger's side to help Ian from the car. He was still wobbly, leaning against her a little more than he was comfortable with. They both were feeling awkward. She should have realized that sooner. Danae beeped the car, keying in the security lock, then came up beside Ian, to help support him to the elevator. This level of the garage was only two floors below their room. The hallways were clear. . .for which Jocelyn would be eternally grateful. Especially once they reached the room, and Danae unlocked it. She pushed the door open, and Jocelyn helped Ian inside. She was focusing on keeping Ian stable, so it startled her when her companion blurted out, "**What**? What in the hell are _you_ doing here?"

* * *

On a scale of one to ten, Tanner Masters would have placed the shock on Ian Howe's face at a fifteen. On the other hand, he supposed he couldn't blame his cellmate. No doubt, Agent Marini told him that someone in the FBI would be staying with him and Jocelyn Ramsey while she was out. He just wasn't expecting that someone to be his former cellmate. Which was very good. It meant that his cover was bought. Of course, it didn't hurt that Andrew Mueller had no idea whom he was, either. Didn't hurt at all!

However, he would pat himself on the back later. This encounter looked to get extremely interesting. The young woman guiding Ian looked up, looked at Tiny, then at Ian, then finally at Agent Marini. Then she looked back at Tiny, and asked very slowly, as if she wasn't sure her eyes were working properly, "Tanner? Tanner Masters? What are you doing here?" Tiny just grinned at the little brunette. Ye-up, Will and Pauline told him that she would react like this. Not that he ever really doubted them. Jocelyn looked over her shoulder at Danae Marini, asking, "Danae? Why is Tanner here?"

"I was wondering that myself, cara. . .especially since the last time I saw him, he was standing at Ian's bedside. You're not really a prisoner, are you?" Agent Marini asked, slipping past Ian and Jocelyn. It was stating the obvious, but under the circumstances, she could be easily forgiven. Tiny shook his head, grinning. Damn, he really should have been an actor! However, this was a lot more fun. Jocelyn eased Ian to the bed, allowing him to collapse from exhaustion and shock. Tiny's smile died slowly. Damn. He really wished he could have gotten to Ice before Winters and his merry band of toadies beat him up.

"No, ma'am. Agent Tanner Masters, of the New Orleans Field Office of the FBI, at your service. I guess you're wondering why I was even in prison?" Tiny asked, addressing his comment to his former cellmate. Ian nodded, eyeing him warily, and Tiny explained, "It's like I told you before. I was placed there to protect you. . . at the request of Special Agent William Drake." Ian frowned, and Tiny explained, "My boss. The head of the New Orleans FBI field office. He's also Pauline's husband, so he's sort of Jocelyn's cousin. Anyhow, he and I concocted a cover story for me being in prison with you. And he has a few contacts in the prison system, as well as a few in the Justice Department who are even higher than Mr. Mueller. Seems that Will's better half was afraid that something would happen to you. She was right."

"So why didn't anyone else know about this?" Agent Marini asked. She and Jocelyn took seats on the other bed. Jos was frowning thoughtfully. Good. She would start to ask questions, and that was the other reason why Tiny was here. His boss knew there was more to the Declaration heist, and so did Tiny. Well, for that matter, so did the entirety of the Bureau. However, for reasons that Pauline was unwilling to specify, they weren't to tell her the truth yet. They would know when the time was right, but first, they had to get her curious about what really happened. He learned a long time ago that the best policy with Pauline was not to ask.

In the meantime, he had some 'splainin' to do. Tiny answered, "There are a lot of reasons, Agent Marini. A danger to Ian's life is the main one, though. And Will chose my cover, so I could also keep an ear to the ground about past cases. As to your next question, why me. . .that's actually a lot easier to answer. I went to school with Jocelyn, and kind of have a vested interest in keeping her safe." Now he saw confusion in three pairs of eyes. Of course. There was no way this would be easy. He explained, flushing, "Like I said. . .I went to school with her. After she was nearly killed, she was treated pretty badly by the other kids when she returned to school. I didn't take part in it. . .but I also didn't stick up for her." That was something Tiny found hard to forgive in himself. One thing his parents taught him while he was growing up. . .he was to look after the smaller kids around him.

"Why would that trouble you? I mean, I appreciate that you wanted to make amends. But why go to the trouble of protecting Josie? I hate to use this phrase, as it's not accurate. . .but shouldn't the crime fit the punishment?" Agent Marini asked. Jos nodded, frowning. She didn't remember much of that time, he knew. But he remembered all of it. He remembered the whispers as they waited for their teacher at the beginning of that morning. He remembered the sick feeling he had when Ms. Leonard told them about the accident, and the fact that someone he knew was fighting for her life. He remembered how frightened he was.

Someone his age, someone he knew. . .someone who was nice to him. . .was in the hospital, and she might not live. He remembered working on a get-well card for her, fearing she would never see it. And, he remembered the way she was treated when she came back. Not accepted by her new classmates, and resented by her previous classmates. He explained, "Jos always took up for me. I was the tallest kid in school, and some of the others picked on me 'cause of that, but Jos always stood up for me. So when she needed me to stand up for her, I didn't do it." Jocelyn was shaking her head. . . not in negation, but in confusion. She was always too nice for her own good. Tiny could just about predict what his former classmate would say.

And he nailed it. She pointed out, "Tanner, c'mon! We were kids. Eleven, twelve years old, at most. Okay, yeah, it hurt, but we were kids! I grew up, and I got over it! You don't have any reason to feel bad! Besides, I found out later that a lot of kids were angry with me, 'cause I didn't respond to their get-well cards. And I'm sorry about that. . .but I didn't find the cards until years later." Tiny shook his head determinedly. The point of the get-well cards was to make Jos feel better, not to make themselves feel better. Wait a minute? She didn't. . .never mind.

"Okay, before you two start with the '_I'm guiltier than you'_ party. . .stop. Agent Masters, I'm glad you're here, and that you already know Josie. Josie. . .hush, and just accept the nice man's offer. Ian. . .bed," Agent Marini instructed. Tiny opted not to tell her that he was already in bed. He didn't think she wanted to hear that. She went on, "Now. I'm off to fill his prescriptions, so the two of you make sure he rests." Tiny glanced over at his former classmate, asking silently if this was normal for the other agent. Jos just nodded very slightly. The female agent added, "And don't you be talking behind my back, I can figure out what you're saying." _Damn. Busted again_!

"Didn't say a word, Danae. You just go ahead and get that prescription filled. We'll make sure Ian behaves himself. . .won't we, Tanner?" Jocelyn asked with a sidelong look. Tiny grinned viciously. Oh yes, they certainly would! His smile widened when he noticed the uneasy way Ian was looking at them both. Jocelyn continued, "Actually. . .you know, I'm sure you two agents have a lot to talk about, so I'll get to work on Ian." Oh, that sounded somewhat obscene! Jocelyn glared at him, adding, "Get your mind out of the gutter! Honestly, Tanner!"

She was right on both counts, and as Tiny followed Agent Marini out in the corridor, he said softly, "Wanted to bring something up with you. I've been keeping my eyes and ears open while I was in prison, watching Ice's back. Something stinks in the state of Denmark, where one of the other prisoners is concerned. Facts don't add up, so when you have time, you might want to investigate it a little further. There's a kid in there. . .Paul. He was convicted of murdering his father, after catching the old man molesting his baby sister."

"I'll see what I can find out," Agent Marini answered, not asking the obvious question, "but I need to know more about what's going on. . .why an FBI agent was in that prison to protect a felon. There's got to be more than what you've told me, about spooky Cousin Pauline and hottie Cousin Will." Tiny nodded. Yeah, there was more, but it could wait until later. Agent Marini asked, her voice dropping even with the door mostly closed behind her, "And do you know the full story behind the Declaration heist?"

_I know more than you do_, he thought, _and with so many knowing, it's just a matter of time before Jocelyn finds out_. However, all he said was, "Yeah. That's one of the reasons I was permitted to protect Ice. Danae. . .listen. There's a lot going on that you don't know about, even with regards to the Gates group. It's like Cousin Pauline has said on more than one occasion. . .very little is as it seems." Danae's dark eyes narrowed, but after a moment, she nodded. There would be more conversation about this. There had to be. But that would wait until later. For now, they both had work to do.

* * *

They sat on the bed, not looking at each other, but sitting close. There were so many things to say, and neither knew where to begin. At last, Jocelyn raised her eyes to look at him and said softly, "Let's start with your shoes. You'll be more comfortable that way." Ian nodded hesitantly, not sure if he should make a dumb joke about. . .no. No, that was something that Shaw would have said. Jos shifted her weight and began easing the sneakers from his feet. Ian gritted his teeth. . .even the gentle movements were jostling his ribs. She must have realized this, because she said softly, "I'm sorry."

"I. . .'s alright," Ian murmured. What else would he say? It bloody well hurt, but he wouldn't say so when she was trying to help him. She flashed him a half-smile which told him it wasn't all right. However, Jos said nothing, and instead, focused on getting his shoe off without hurting him. She carefully grasped his ankle, stabilizing his leg, then eased the shoe off. Ian released his breath, murmuring, "Better. Good idea." She looked up and smiled, a real smile this time. Jos shifted her weight and repeated the attempt on the other foot. He had forgotten how gentle she could be. As she lowered his leg to the bed once more, he added, "Thank you."

"Welcome," was the quiet reply. Ian looked away, and they sat in silence for several moments. What did he say to this woman? He didn't know what he wanted to say, what she needed to hear. Annie was okay, and they would get her and Cam back? He didn't like making promises, not if he wasn't sure he could keep them. Don't worry? Please, he was smarter than that. He might not always use his common sense, but he did know better than to tell a mother not to worry about her child. Especially in circumstances like this one.

Then what? Ian didn't know. He was so lost in his thoughts, he didn't hear Jocelyn speak immediately. Then she shifted her weight, forcing him to look at her, and she repeated, "They've been gone a long time. . .and I keep getting the feeling that people are trying to keep me in the dark about something." Ouch. However, as he looked at her face, he noticed she wasn't looking at him. Rather, she was frowning thoughtfully, pushing back her hair with an absent gesture that he always found oddly endearing.

"You know. . .Philip's former boss. . .he had this saying on a stained glass window in his house. It was something his father always used to say. Faith has need of the whole truth," Ian said slowly, groping along this lifeline he was given unexpectedly by Derek Rayne, and to a degree, his late and unlamented father Winston. He never thought that drama queen would provide any help to him, but the world was weird sometimes. Jocelyn looked up sharply at that, her dark brows arching in a way that always amused Shaw. He called it her, '_you've gotta be kidding me_' look.

"Funny. . .I always thought that faith had need of faith. I mean, that's the whole idea, isn't it? Faith isn't based on facts, on what we know, but on what we don't know. I mean. . .I wasn't raised to be religious, but that isn't the point. I like your cousin, by the way. I wasn't sure what to expect, but he. . .he's a good one," Jos replied. Ian smiled at that. Yes, people tended to have that reaction to Pip. And women also tended to notice his cousin's good looks. His Irish accent certainly didn't hurt matters, either. Jocelyn continued, "Faith has need of the whole truth. What a dippy thing to say."

She shook her head, actually smiling. And it was so good to see her smile again. He loved her smile. Loved the way it lit up her face. Loved her face. Loved her mannerisms. He must have moved wrong, because even as he gazed at her and remembered how much he loved her smile, pain exploded through his chest. Ian gasped, closing his eyes. He never saw Jocelyn move, but he felt it. . .felt the bed shift again under her weight. Then he felt her hands on his arms, gently easing him down. . .pressing him against the pillows. She said softly, "Just rest, okay? The long, deep conversations. . .or arguments. . .can wait until later. You need to rest."

Her hands were sliding under his body, and as he struggled to breathe through the pain, Ian thought briefly about teasing her about taking liberties with an injured man. Then he realized what she was doing. . .pulling down the sheets, so she could cover him up. Of course. What else would she be doing? Jos repeated, her voice very soft, "Rest. Just rest. I'll watch over you." Someone to watch over me. Wasn't that one of her favorite songs? Ian would have asked her about it, but she began caressing his hair lightly, smoothing it back from his forehead. It made him sleepy. . .which was, of course, the whole idea.

But he wouldn't complain. Nor would he say anything of any sort to Jos about it. He didn't want her to think about what she was doing. . .or for her to stop. Ian was drifting toward sleep when the door opened once more, and Ian jolted to full wakefulness, groaning as his ribs protested. Bugger all, that _hurt_! Tiny Masters. . . no, Agent Tanner Masters. . .looked at him guiltily, muttering, "Sorry about that, Ice. Didn't mean to wake you up. Dr. Ramsey, Agent Marini said to tell you that she should be back in about an hour. She plans to fill Ice's prescriptions, and check on a few things. Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime?"

"Since when did you start calling me 'Dr. Ramsey,' Tanner? C'mon, we've known each other since we were kids. . .my name is 'Jocelyn,' just like it's always been," Jos said, sounding more than a little exasperated by her former classmate. Ian glanced at the man who shared his cell all this time, and was more than a little amused to see Tiny looking embarrassed. Jos continued after a moment, "And while I'm thinking about it, how long have you been an FBI agent? Why have I never heard Will mention you?"

"Well, there's the long version and the short version. I've been an FBI agent for about four years. I went through the standard four years of college, studied law enforcement. Got my BA in law enforcement, went through the police academy, was a cop for four years. Decided what I really wanted to do was on the national level after. . .well, you know," Tiny replied. Jocelyn nodded, her face growing grim. Ian didn't know, but he could make a good guess. Tiny went on, "So, I went through the FBI Academy in Quantico, and was assigned to the New Orleans field office. As for why Special Agent in Charge Drake never told you about me. . .well, that's because I was being groomed to act as his bodyguard in prison." And here, he nodded to Ian.

"Why?" Jocelyn repeated. Ian was curious about that as well, which was why he struggled to stay awake as she began stroking his hair absently once more. Tiny shuffled his feet, looking uncomfortable, and Jos repeated once more, "Why, Tanner? Why were you acting as Ian's bodyguard in prison, why would he even need a bodyguard? That presupposes that Will knew something. . .something that led him to believe that Ian needed protection. So, why? And why do I keep getting the feeling that everyone around me knows something I don't?"

Her voice rose with the last few words, and her hand fell away from Ian. Probably just as well. He was in enough pain right now. . .he didn't want to add pulled hair, as minor as that was. Tiny took a deep breath, then said, "Jocelyn. . .please. It's true that you don't know everything that's going on, but believe me when I tell you. . . none of the secrets being kept from you will impact getting Cameron and Annie back, safe and sound. There are things that I know, as an FBI agent, that I can't tell you. Things that involve national security, and even international security. Please. Trust me. I know you have no reason, but remember. . .Will would do anything for both you and Annie. Trust in that. Trust Pauline."

National security? International security? Ian was growing more and more concerned. However, he didn't get a chance to ask, because Jos sighed, "All right. Can you promise me that whatever secrets you and Danae and everyone else are keeping from me. . .they won't get my daughter killed? Can you promise me that, Tanner?" See, that was the thing Ian was trying to figure out. How on earth did his daughter and brother's kidnappings even involve national security, much less international security? Yes, he knew about his brother's work, but. . . It just didn't add up.

Tiny said slowly, his eyes never leaving Jocelyn's face, "I swear to you, upon my oath as an FBI agent and every other oath that I hold sacred. . .none of these secrets, none of the things we're keeping from you will get your daughter or Cameron McDowell killed. That is the one thing that I can promise, above and beyond anything else. The secret we're keeping has nothing to do with Annie or Cam, it has to do with putting a wrong to rights." Why did that scare the crap out of Ian?

Jos exhaled slowly, then said, "Okay. I believe you. And. . .I just don't have the energy to do anything else." Ian tilted his head so he could see her properly. She did look exhausted. For the first time since Danae and Jocelyn picked him and Philip up, he wondered just how much she was holding in. He didn't have a chance to ask, for she added, "Tanner, would you mind staying with Ian? I need to call Philip, give him the information about our room, and I'll take down his information at the same time."

"Go ahead. I should probably explain a few things to Ice anyhow," Tiny replied. Oh yes, Ian most assuredly wanted to hear this. . .especially the bit about finding Ian before Winters and his merry band of miscreants beat him to death. Jos favored him with a wan smile, then rose to her feet. She withdrew her cell phone from her purse, then went into the bathroom. Ian wondered if she would get better reception in there. After a moment, he dismissed it. She was in there for privacy. She would get that privacy. And he would get some explanations.

* * *

In another part of the city, Abigail Chase Gates was telling her father-in-law about her meeting with Jocelyn Ramsey, detail by detail. She was still a bit disturbed by what he said earlier about his girlfriend, Carolan, but that could wait. Right now, she wanted Patrick's thoughts. She had her own, and Ben had his own. But Patrick. . .he sometimes saw things that others didn't. As she wrapped up her explanation, Patrick was silent for several moments. Abigail didn't mind. It gave her time to look back over the events.

And, she had to admit, she could now see things from Danae Marini's perspective. It wasn't so far-fetched to think that many FBI agents knew the whole story. It also made sense that Agent Marini would be skeptical of her and Ben's offer to help. After all, as she realized of Jocelyn Ramsey herself, she had no reason to trust them. The difference was, Agent Marini had access to a lot more information than her best friend did. In her eyes, the entire Gates group was no better than Ian. Eighteen months ago, Abigail would have scoffed at that.

But now. . . Now, after having time to think about it, and question a few facts that she didn't know. . . Well, Abigail just didn't know. Patrick said finally, "I remember when I first found out that Ben had stolen the Declaration. All I could think was, '_my God, it's happening again. My son is ruining his life, just like my father ruined his life. Just like I almost ruined my own_.' But you know, we never. . .I never stopped and thought about what made our bid for the treasure any better, any nobler than Ian Howe's. I sought him out, did you know that? I spoke with Agent Sadusky, after Ben was captured, and he asked me if I knew anything about Ian Howe. I'd never heard of him. . . did some research. . .sought him out. Next thing I know, I'm tied up. . .again. . .and that was before his men even took me to him."

That, Abigail hadn't known. It never occurred to her that her father-in-law would seek out Ian. But why not? She and Riley did just that, to get Ben out of jail. It made sense that Patrick would seek out the man who began the last incarnation of the Templar quest. Patrick sighed, "I never really thought about what I was doing. I never thought that Howe's men would consider me a possible threat to their boss, but they. . .especially that Shaw. . . they would have killed to protect him."

"And Ian realized that you. . .I just don't understand that last part. It was as if Agent Marini thought we were more dangerous than Ian. How does she come up with that? I mean, how could she possibly come up with that?" Abigail asked, shaking her head. That was something that had been bothering her about the meeting the previous day. She was willing to help Ian get his daughter back. She was even willing to re-think her assumption that the man was evil. However, the notion that she and Ben and Riley were more dangerous than Ian? That made no sense to her. Patrick sighed once more.

"Look at it from her point of view, Abby. Look at what Ben was willing to do, to keep the Declaration out of Ian's hands. He forged documents. . .he used your own fingerprints to get into the vault. He would have let you die. She knows all this. How, I don't know. But somehow, she's learned what happened in that last leg of the journey. And because of what she's learned, she's decided that Ben, and his allies, cannot be trusted. Can you sit there and tell me that in her position, with the information she has, that you would reach any other conclusion than the one she has?" her father-in-law asked.

Put like that. . . Abigail closed her eyes, feeling her reality tilt dangerously under her feet. But her father-in-law wasn't finished. Patrick continued, "Let's take that one step further. What makes you, or Riley, or Ben think that Ian's desire to reach the Templar Treasure. . .that it wasn't based on reasons just as noble? Hmm?" Abigail gawked at her father-in-law. What on earth was he saying? Her father-in-law continued, "I've thought about this a lot. There were good reasons to keep the Templar Treasure hidden. . .or away from the general population, Abby. Very good, very noble reasons."

"Such as? Patrick. . .he tried to kill us! What reason. . .what noble reason. . . could he possibly have to try to kill us?" Abigail protested. Patrick merely looked at her steadily. Did he know something she didn't? No. No, he didn't know anything more, he was just playing devil's advocate. But why? She continued, "And those guards in the vault!" Except. . .they weren't dead. They were knocked unconscious. Which was still assault on a federal law enforcement official, but it didn't carry a penalty as stiff as killing them would have.

"Well, let's see here. . .there was the matter of the '_Charlotte_.' That could be easily ruled as an accident. Ben lit the fuse and tossed it. Ian caught it. . .the fire burned his glove, and he dropped it. The fire spread, effectively dividing the room. Who is at fault? Ben, for lighting the fuse, or Ian, for dropping it?" Patrick began. Abigail bit her lip, not knowing how to answer. Her father-in-law continued, "According to the testimony of Ian's men during the trial, Shaw was firing blanks inside the 'Charlotte.' I believe it was the one named Powell who said that. . .he said that the spark from a real bullet would have blown them all sky-high."

That was something that never actually occurred to Abigail. She frowned, biting her lower lip thoughtfully. She had nothing to say, which was just as well, because Patrick wasn't finished yet, "I don't know all of the events. But you yourself told me that Ian prevented Shaw from shooting you and Riley after he got the Declaration. There wasn't any point. They had what they needed. And he left us at the bottom of that dumb waiter system. . .after saving my life. He pushed me to safety, Abigail. He didn't need me. He could have let me die. But he didn't. If Ian Howe wanted any of us dead. . .we wouldn't have survived the hunt."

He was right. About all of it, he was right. '_If we need you, we know where to find you_,' Ian had said, or something similar, before he and Powell returned to the top. Abigail exhaled slowly, whispering, "Then why? If he was on the side of the angels, then why? Why leave us there, why threaten us repeatedly_?" If they come back without us. . .well, use your imagination_. She was starting to understand what her father-in-law was trying to tell her. But why? That was what made no sense. Why would he do such things if he was working toward a noble goal. . .and what could possibly that goal be?

"To keep us out of the way, maybe? I'm not saying that's what actually happened, Abby. I don't know. But something happened to change Danae Marini's mind toward Ian Howe. She's a law enforcement official. If she's threatening you and Ben, to protect him, then there's a reason for it," Patrick answered. Abigail sat back. Her father-in-law added with a wry grin, "And honestly, there are times when I can't blame Ian for threatening Riley, if it would get him to shut up. He is a good kid, but there are times when he doesn't know how to put a sock in it."

Abigail smiled at that. Yes, Riley could be. . .annoying. . .at times. Patrick said more seriously, "The other thing is. . .the word 'evil' gets bandied around an awful lot these days, usually by people who have no clue what true evil means. In a way, they're fortunate, if they don't know. I almost envy them. But I've seen evil. . ._real_ evil, Abigail. There's a difference between 'evil' and 'wrong,' or even 'bad.' Unfortunately, it's very hard to actually define 'evil.' But you know it when you see it. Evil is Adolf Hitler and his Big Lie, his Final Solution, his perfect Aryan Race. Evil is not a man trying to attain a treasure. Because if Ian Howe is evil, so is my son."

The young blonde scholar started to protest, but fell silent. Patrick patted her arm and said, "I'm going to check on my granddaughter, then call Carolan. See if she and Jade are safe." He rose to his feet, grimacing, and started to leave the kitchen. However, as he reached the door, he turned back, saying, "I shouldn't tell you this, as it's not my story to tell. When Jade was eleven years old, she and Carolan were taken hostage. I won't dignify him by calling him a man. He held them for three days, and during that time, he raped and tortured Jade, and forced Carolan to watch. Eleven years old. That's true evil, Abigail. He raped and tortured an eleven year old girl, and he enjoyed it. That's one conversation you never want to have with Carolan. She has no trouble, whatsoever, telling you what true evil is."

No. No. . .no, Abigail imagined not. She tried to imagine what she would do, if someone did that to her daughter. To anyone who hurt her baby girl. Her blood ran cold, and then it felt like lava in her veins. Abigail trembled in quiet fury. She would kill them. Anyone who even made her little girl cry out in pain. . .she would kill them.

There would be no mercy, not for someone who harmed a child. . .her child. None. She would take a kitchen knife, or a butter knife, or a fork or a spoon, and she would eviscerate anyone who hurt her child. She didn't care. Whatever it took. Patrick's words echoed in her mind. '_What if he was keeping us out of the way_?' If Ian Howe wanted them dead, then they would all be just that. . .dead. He didn't kill them. He threatened, yes. . .but he never killed them. He kept them out of the way.

_Why_?

* * *

Things were spinning, ever more rapidly, out of control. Claire Spencer rubbed her hand over her eyes. Ian Howe in prison. . .figuratively falling on his sword to keep the Luna Foundation, the Legacy, out of the public eye. His daughter and brother, kidnapped by persons unknown. And now, Derek Rayne, a ghost from the past who refused to stay dead, was returning. . .but no. No, that wasn't fair. He never mentioned what she owed him. And in a way, that made her hate him all the more. That, and finally marrying Alex Moreau. When that day occurred, the last of Claire's hope evaporated.

She should have known that Derek would eventually learn the truth about Ian Howe, that he was actually a free-lancing member of the Legacy. And she did know. But her instincts, the instincts which served her so well during her years as the precept for Hong Kong House, now told her that the stakes just went up higher. Something else was at work here, and she didn't know what that something was. In front of her, the screen flickered to life and Claire raised her head, to look Derek Rayne in the eye. She said very quietly, but very clearly, "Hello, Derek."

"Hello, Claire. I need a little information, if you wouldn't mind," Derek replied in a voice just as calm as her own. Claire's instincts were now on high alert, but she inclined her head. Derek asked, "Is Ian Howe, born Ian McDowell, a Legacy operative?" The air left Claire's lungs in a rush. She had been expecting this, but. . . She nodded, unable to form the words, and Derek went on, "I see. I thought as much. Was he. . .was he working for the Legacy when he attempted to steal the Declaration of Independence?"

"He was. In fact, as far as I'm concerned, everything he did while that assignment. . .Derek, Ian was given carte blanche. . .whatever was necessary to finish the job. There was no need for him to fall on his sword. . .I had legal experts ready to fly to the United States," Claire replied. Derek frowned, and the blonde precept went on, "There was no reason in the world for him to go to jail. He gave me hourly reports, telling me what he was doing. . .he even knew what laws he was breaking. There was no need for him to go to prison."

That was actually something she didn't understand. Why did he fall on his sword? She remembered, from the initial meeting, that he really didn't have much use for the Legacy. So why would he agree to go to jail, to protect them? It made no sense to her. Derek said soberly, "We have a few ideas about that." Claire was on the verge of asking about those ideas, but she restrained herself. Derek often played things close to the vest, even keeping his team out of the loop. She still thought it was irresponsible, but after the stunt she pulled almost ten years earlier, because of her grudge against him, she had no right to judge him.

So, rather than question him about it, she asked, "Is there anything I can do?" She wasn't the one who recruited Ian McDowell in the first place. . .that was Sir Edmund. However, she was the one who gave Ian the assignment to find the Templar Treasure, and in that respect, he was one of her people. She was still angry with him. . .for failing, for getting caught, and too many other reasons to consider. But he was still one of her people, and he was still a member of the Legacy. One who, even with half-hearted participation, made valuable contributions.

"Once it was established that Ian McDowell was a member of the Legacy, we began looking into the abduction of his daughter and younger brother. On the day of the abduction, his former lover and the mother of his daughter, Dr. Jocelyn Ramsey, received a call from a small museum in North Carolina, funded by the Luna Foundation. If you'll recall, we released the sarcophagus, mummy, and accompanying items of the tomb of Princess Senephra, to tour the country in Luna-funded museums," Derek answered. Claire nodded. Yes, she remembered that. The other precept went on, "The curator called the House after the kidnapping, asking me why I requested Dr. Ramsey in particular to aid with the exhibit.

"The trouble is, of course, I never made any such recommendation. I am familiar with Dr. Ramsey's work, of course, particularly her paper about Menes III and the disappearance of his daughter's tomb. But I never contact Dr. Grady. I find it especially suspicious, since recent information tells us that another kidnapping attempt was made, this one to take Dr. Ramsey hostage herself. Someone used my name, Claire." His voice was cold and hard now. One thing Derek Rayne didn't appreciate at all was being used.

Which was why she would never do it. Claire replied, maintaining eye contact with her former bed-partner, "I'm sorry to hear that, Derek, but since it wasn't I, or a member of my House, who spoke with Dr. Grady, I can hardly help you there." Personally, Claire thought he should look closer to home. _Like Dr. Rachel Corrigan, maybe_? Claire probably shouldn't judge, of course, but as far as she was concerned, that woman had no business being in the Legacy. In the years since she aided in the false council against Derek, she read everything she could about Dr. Rachel Corrigan. It was too bad that young Kristen Adams died. . .she was a far more valuable member of the Legacy.

However, she said none of this to Derek. He was obsessively protective of the blonde psychiatrist. He had never forgiven himself for his father's part in the death of her mother, and seemed to regard it as his personal mission in life to make amends for that. Derek said after a moment, "You have my apologies, Claire. I did not mean to imply that it was you who used me. I was merely angry. There are lies within lies within lies. The Legacy cannot exist without trust, and I see the trust breaking down."

Again, she refrained from pointing out that he did it to himself many times. That whole business of '_faith has need of the whole truth_,' and yet, keeping vital information from his team? She had loved Derek, but the man could be an incredible hypocrite. Instead, she said coolly, "Believe me, Derek, if I had information that Dr. Ramsey was in danger, I would have shared it with the local authorities. I certainly wouldn't have made a call to a local museum, suggesting her for help, if they needed help for an exhibit."

And because she was disgusted with him because of the accusation, and his hypocrisy, she asked lightly, "And just what are you keeping from the rest of us, Derek? San Francisco has always been something of a maverick House. You keep things from the rest of us, you keep things from your own people. You talk about trust, and faith having need of the whole truth, yet you send the woman who eventually becomes your wife into a deadly situation without all the facts. Have you done the same, perhaps with Jocelyn Ramsey or Ian McDowell? What sort of secrets are you keeping about them?"

It was a cruel dig, and she knew it. But she also knew Derek Rayne. Just as sure as she was standing here, he had learned something new and was hoarding that information. Derek's voice was even more icy than when he accused her of using him, replying, "What I do or do not know about your thief and his former lover is not to be disclosed at this time. There are forces at work within the Legacy, as dark as Charles Bannion. Only this time, I cannot call a tribunal against myself to smoke out the traitor. What do you know about them that you're not telling, Claire? We're all committed to the Legacy. . .but are you willing to harm innocents for the sake of that loyalty? How far would you go to protect the Legacy?"

Claire hung up then, her mind spinning with the accusations and the information. Something dark was at work in the Legacy. Derek was willing to sacrifice everything he had, everything he was, to protect the Legacy from itself. She knew how far he was willing to go. But his question resounded in her brain. How far would you go to protect the Legacy? She knew nothing about Ian McDowell or Jocelyn Ramsey. . .but she knew where she could find out. And Claire Spencer had work to do. It was the least she owed to the man whom she brought into this Byzantine web of lies. . .the very least.


	14. More than Meets the Eye

I'm back. . .sorry about the delay, y'all, and I hope everyone got their review responses. Ian was being somewhat difficult in this chapter, which is what took so long. . .I was fighting with him about it. We finally compromised. Got a few more twists coming up this chapter, though I think a few of you might have seen at least one coming. Also, you will probably notice that the section dividers have been taken out. . .if this causes your eyes distress, please let me know, and I'll figure out some other way of marking the end of sections.

Oh, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my little brother, who turns thirty-three today!

Part Thirteen

More than Meets the Eye

Bloody hell. Rayne. . .it wasn't Rayne who contacted Grady? It wasn't Rayne who pulled Jocelyn out of the line of fire, so to speak? Derek Shaw shook his head. . .or would have, if he could. If it wasn't Rayne, then who was it? His vision, unfortunately, was greatly limited. He could only watch one at a time. And he had spent entirely too much time away from Annie and Cameron. It had now been some time since the last time they were visited for reason other than to deposit a food tray.

That meant nothing, however. With a whisper of a thought, Derek returned to the small, dark room where the pair were spending their. . .which night was it? How long had it been since they were taken? With a shock, Derek realized that it had to have been several days. Yet. . .it didn't seem like such a long time. Time moved differently here. He wished he could tell Jocelyn. They often talked about that. . .usually when she was so drunk, she didn't care about what she said. Jocelyn didn't get drunk that often. . .she hated being out of control. But every time she did get drunk, he learned something more about her.

Sometimes, it angered him. They were family, when you came right down to it, and shouldn't she trust him by now? And unfortunately, this wasn't something Ian could explain to him. Derek had to figure it out himself. Which he did. . .understanding that her trust had to be earned, and there were many types of trust. At that point, she would have trusted him with her life, with Ian's life, even with Annie's life. But certain parts of her. . .parts of her soul? That was another matter entirely, and that was as it should be. Past experience taught her to be wary of sharing too much of her heart and soul with members of the male population. . .those who didn't belong to her family, at least. That was why she was so wary about telling Ian how she truly felt about him. That fear of rejection. . .the same fear that drove her relationships with the other lads in the beginning. Once he understood that. . .well. He relaxed, and so did she.

To his relief, he discovered that Cam and Annie remained unharmed. In fact, Cam was telling Annie stories that his and Ian's father told them while they were boys. Derek grinned to himself, remembering what Ian told him once. Their father told them stories, while their mother sang them songs of Scotland. Derek asked them why it was done that way, and Ian admitted, '_Because Mum was always a better singer than Da_.' Short, sweet, and to the point. Ian went on to say that most Scottish folk songs told stories, anyhow. Shaw could hardly argue with that.

"Mommy always sings to me, and tells me stories, too," Annie was telling Cam. Derek smiled. Yes, even now, at eight, Annie insisted that her mother sing to her before she would sleep. Jos didn't seem to mind. Then again, she never seemed to mind singing for them, either. He could remember many nights when Jos sang for them. She and Ian would be on the davenport, Ian's head resting in her lap. His favorite position. . .at least out in public. Yes, his head would lay in her lap, while Shaw, Powell, and the others sat in recliners in a rough circle. As she became one of them, she learned many of their favorite songs.

Some, she already knew, courtesy of her own Irish and English roots. Others, she learned from them. Shaw remembered nights with the lights turned down low, Jocelyn singing _The Fields of Athenry_, or _Scotland the Brave_, or _Annie Laurie_, or _Barbara Allan_, as she combed her fingers through Ian's hair. Much to their amazement, they discovered that she had learned _Barbara Allan_ while she was still a child, in her music class at school. And while English wasn't the only language she could speak, it was the only one she could sing in. He remembered the slightly apologetic smile she wore when she made that particular admission. That was all right, though. That was all right.

He directed his attention back to the child, though in a way, he wished that he hadn't. Annie was singing now. Gods, she was singing _The Minstrel Boy_, the one song that never failed to bring tears to his eyes. _Bloody hell. . .bloody, bloody hell, she's just like her mother_! Of course, he was dead, so having tears in his eyes was a physical impossibility, but still. His previous statement held true. She was just like her mother. And her father. She was much like them both. She had some of Ian's mannerisms. . .she raked her hand through her hair when she was agitated, just like her father. And when she was pleased, almost to the point of being smug, she had the exact same expression. That little girl would be very dangerous in just a few years. And if they all made it out of this alive, there was no doubt in Derek's mind that Ian would meet any would-be boyfriend at the door with a gun of some kind. Or something. He might not be able to carry a gun. . .convicted felon, and all that.

However, he would find a way to protect his baby girl. When he wasn't chasing down lost treasures for the Legacy, Ian was quite resourceful. Sometimes, frighteningly so, though that wouldn't be the case, this time. On the contrary. It would be one helluva show, and Shaw was looking forward to seeing it. Of course, that meant making sure that Ian, especially, lived through this mess. Oddly enough, he wasn't as worried about Jocelyn living through this. She was much more sensible than Ian. And for those rare times when her emotions overrode her good sense. . .well, that was what she had Danae Marini for. And, it appeared, Tiny Masters as well. Derek grinned almost evilly. Oh, it was great to see the look on Ian's face when he realized that Masters was an FBI agent assigned to protect him!

That, Derek knew. What came as a surprise was the fact that Masters also knew Jocelyn. As if hearing his thoughts, his honorary niece began singing, _It's a Small World_. Something, no doubt, her mother taught her. She had the old Disney records at home, in her old bedroom, she told him once, and she would give those old records, old toys, to her daughter. Looked like she kept that promise. Annie, as children often did, forgot words and instead, sang the chorus over and over. She finally put herself to sleep, her small body slumping against her uncle's. Cam put a protective arm around her, drawing her close. He whispered, "It'll be all right, Annie Laurie. Just you wait and see. Everything will be all right." _You better believe it will_, Derek thought with grim determination, _no matter what the Legacy does, we'll make everything come out right_!

Unbelievable. Un-fraggin'-believable. All this time, his cellmate. . .was a Fed? This made no sense, and yet it did, at the same time. Tiny never volunteered information about himself. He was the first one in the fight when it came time to. . .welcome. . .a child molester, child abuser, who somehow slipped through the cracks. That reminded him. . . Ian lifted his head and looked toward the bathroom cautiously. Jocelyn was still inside, evidently still talking to Pip. Satisfied, he asked Tiny. . .Tanner. . .Masters, "All the times when you helped to beat up child abusers when they arrived. Was that part of the cover?"

"Yes, and no. I did it because anything else would have gotten their suspicions up. Especially someone like me, who was supposedly in for my trouble controlling my temper. Would have looked strange if I didn't take part in it. Did I enjoy it? What do you think?" Tiny challenged. Ian allowed himself a half-smile. Well, now that he mentioned it. . . Tiny shook his head after a moment, adding, "I just wish I could have reached you before that pile of manure Winters and his buddies worked you over."

"You saved my life as it was. . .you don't have anything to be sorry about," Ian pointed out. He remembered very little of what happened after the beating. Just remembered being cold, wet, and being pummeled. Darkness, for a time. Then waking up in the prison infirmary. He looked at the big man's expression, and was stunned to see a cold rage in the agent's eyes. Tiny looked over his shoulder, as if checking for Jocelyn. This couldn't be good. If he was making sure Jos wasn't around first. . .

Which led to another question. . .who, exactly, was Tiny protecting? Himself? Jos? Ian? Someone else whom he didn't know about? By this time, Ian didn't know which way was up. Aside from Jocelyn and Danae, he no longer knew whom he could trust. He wanted to trust Tiny, of course. The man saved his life. . .was placed inside the pen to protect him, at the request of Jocelyn's cousin Pauline. The question. . .at least in this circumstance. . .was **why**?

_Why would Cousin Pauline care_? Well, yes, she was Jocelyn and Annie's cousin, and he was Annie's father. But. . .Ian shook his head, immediately regretting it. That hurt. It hurt a lot. And he had to focus on what Tiny was saying right now. The big man observed, "My offense was reputed to be manslaughter. . .losing my temper and hitting someone so hard, the blow killed them. When I saw you lying there, only barely conscious and naked. . .I almost. . .I wanted to kill them, Ian. I must have growled, because when they turned around and saw me. . .drowning rats couldn't have moved any faster. By the time I reached you, you were unconscious, and I was actually glad of that. I wrapped you up in one of the stray towels and carried you to the infirmary."

Huh? But. . but that wasn't what the prison officials told him! They told him. . . what Tiny told them. The federal agent added with a self-deprecating smile, "I lied." He. . .lied. Ian could only stare at the other man in absolute shock. Tiny burst out laughing, and Ian glared at him. . .it wasn't funny! The big man replied, "Yes, actually, it is funny, Ian. You look so shocked that I lied. Was it because I'm a FBI agent, or because you thought you had the lock on not telling everyone the whole story?" Okay, that stung. Tiny said a little more gently, "I understand your reasons, Ian." Under. . . Oh no. Not again. Not another one. He cast a pleading glance at the man standing in front of him, who said very softly, "Yup. I know the rest of the story." Well, that was highly doubtful, but he knew enough to. . .

Crap. What was it that everyone said? It's only a secret if one person knows about it. This secret was becoming less and less of one with each passing moment, and the chances of him keeping it from Jos grew infinitely smaller. So far, there was Philip, Tiny, Danae, Mr. Mueller, to name just a few. If Tiny knew, who else did? On the other hand, he was FBI, as was Danae, and it was a fairly good bet that most of the FBI knew. There was good news, however. At least he didn't know about the Legacy. Yet. He mentally cursed the day he even met Claire Spencer. . .for that matter, he cursed the day he met Sir Edmund Tremain! He wished he never heard of the Legacy. Ever.

"Ask you a question?" Tiny inquired and Ian mentally shook himself (by now, he knew better than to give himself a physical shake. It hurt too much). He glanced at his protector, giving him his full attention. The other man continued, pitching his voice low, "Why don't you want Jocelyn to know the truth? I mean, why is it such a big deal that she continues to think that you're the only one who stole the Declaration? The way you're acting. . .it reminds me of the soaps my kid sister used to watch when she was a teenager. Sooner or later, she'll figure things out. She already knows something isn't right."

Where to start with the answer to that? It seemed no matter how many times he explained it to himself, or someone else, it. . .well, the explanation sucked. Ian finally replied, "There's no one reason." So what else was new? After a moment, he went on, "I guess. . .you know that the Gates family has offered their help, to find Annie." Or so he was told. He didn't really think about it then, and didn't want to think about it now. He had too many other things to worry about. Tiny nodded, and Ian continued, "That's part of it. If Jos found out the rest of the story about the Declaration. . .let's just say it wouldn't be pretty. Besides. . .if I told her the whole truth, it would just sound like I'm making excuses."

"But. . .no. Look, I admit, you probably know Jocelyn better than I do," Tiny began. Ian couldn't help himself. . .he smirked a little at that. The agent glared at him, growling, "Let's not go there, all right? Yes, you know her better than I do. But I knew her first. I knew her from the time we were both five years old until she graduated from high school. She may have changed. I don't doubt that. But what I do doubt is her core changing. Jocelyn won't think you're making excuses if you tell her the truth. That said. . .telling her the truth during the search for Annie could very well prove disastrous. She's got one helluva temper, Ian. And there's no doubt in my mind that she would do anything to save her, anything to protect your daughter. But Ben Gates? He's a question mark. So. . .for now. . .I'll agree to keep your secret."

There was a 'but' there, Ian was quite certain. He was right. Tiny went on, "But once Annie, and Cam, are back safely. . .all bets are off. She should know the truth. And if you want a chance to win her back, then you've got to trust her." Win her back? Was Tiny out of his mind? Ian would have to return to prison after this was all over! And there was no way Ian would want Jocelyn to wait for him until he got out. Tiny seemed to realize what he was thinking, because he added, "I think, after this is over, a few people are gonna take a closer look at your trial, Ian. Besides. You took the choice out of her hands once. I think you owe to her to let her make her own decisions this time."

That definitely hit a nerve. However, Ian was spared the necessity of answering him when Jos returned to the room. She was still talking on the phone, but he could tell from the tone of her voice that she wasn't talking to Philip. Danae Marini, more than likely. Maybe someone else, it was hard to say. . .but Ian would bet it was Danae. She had that familiar expression of affectionate exasperation. Familiar. . .Shaw often wore it when Ian was, in his words, behaving like, '_a bloody idjit_.'

But the familiar pang that usually accompanied thoughts of Shaw was driven off by a pang of another kind. Jos was at the drawers and bending over, searching as she talked on the cell phone. Ian barely bit back a groan. The lass was wearing jeans. Odd, he really didn't notice what she was wearing until just now. But, she was wearing jeans and as she bent over, the sweatshirt she wore no longer hid her. . .attributes. She was doing this to him deliberately. He knew she was doing this to him deliberately! Jos straightened up and half-turned, so that she faced toward the window. She wasn't even paying attention to his reaction. Didn't matter. She was still playing dirty.

_Just like I taught her_. He only had himself to blame for this, of course. One of the things he and the lads taught her, when they first started teaching her to defend herself was, there was no such thing as fighting dirty, much less when she was fighting for her life against a larger attacker. Go for the groin, the instep. . .the obvious choices, but they were the obvious choices for a reason. His team showed her all the vulnerable spots on a man's body. And after each session, she treated them to cookies or whatever else they wanted to eat. Powell was especially good at playing on her sympathy. . .even when Shaw rolled his eyes, and proved to Jos that he wasn't hurt as badly as he pretended to be. Ian smiled to himself. Those were good times. Ian, Shaw, Powell, and the others would always protect her with their lives, but Ian wanted her able to defend herself if none of them were around. They fulfilled that promise.

"Was that Agent Marini?" Tiny asked as Jos ended the call. She nodded and turned off her cell with a 'beep,' and Tiny went on, "So, what's next?" _Oooh, there was a loaded question! Especially with Jos! _A smile he hadn't seen at all since meeting up with her appeared, and her eyes danced with hidden merriment. Tiny rolled his eyes, saying, "Rephrase that, Jocelyn, because I really don't want that imp loosed on me. . .the next part of the plan. What is it? Even if it's just the plan for today."

"Danae will be back in about fifteen, twenty minutes with Ian's medication. He's going to sleep in the meantime. You and I will play 'Old Maid' on the other bed, and catch up with each other. Sound like a reasonable plan to you?" Jos asked. Ian thought briefly. . .very briefly, actually. . .about protesting. Then he realized that he really didn't want to do that. He was in pain. He was tired. And really, sleeping sounded like a very good idea. Besides. He might find out things about his former lover that he didn't know. A glance at Tiny told him that the agent also thought this was an excellent idea. Sleep now. Food later. Very good.

After Jocelyn's suggestion, it didn't take Ian long at all to fall asleep. Tiny's classmate sat down on the bed, and motioned for him to take up position on the other side. He looked at the bed a bit warily, and instead, pulled over a chair he brought with him. He didn't want to break a chair or a bed. He was hardly fat, but at nearly seven feet tall, he also wasn't skinny. Jocelyn rolled her eyes, but started to deal the cards. Tiny said, "Uhm. . .we're not playing Old Maid, are we?" Jocelyn frowned, looked down at the cards, and groaned.

"Sorry. A wee bit. . .I hope you don't mind Go Fish instead. I play it so often with Annie, it's second nature by now," she replied. Tiny shook his head, grinning. No, it was no problem at all. Jocelyn continued, "So. Tell me. . .tell me what's new with the Masters family, Tanner. How is your sister? I hope she got rid of that loser she was dating!" Tiny blinked as he picked up his cards. How on earth did Jocelyn know about Pipsqueak? His former classmate grinned at him a bit wickedly, replying, "You forget. . .my parents lived in that town until I was twenty years old. I knew everything that went on!"

"Right. . .of course. And I hope you don't mind adult rules for Go Fish. How silly of me to forget. Yes, Bethan finally dumped that loser. Right around. . .around the time your parents were killed. I'm sorry about that, Jocelyn," he said a bit hesitantly. Her mouth tightened a little, but she just nodded. Tiny felt awkward, even though she mentioned it first, and even though it had been twelve years since the couple was murdered. He said after a moment, "I. . .uhm. . .I think when your parents were killed, Bethan realized life was too short to being involved with someone who hurt her all the time. Did they. . .ah. . .did they ever catch the bastards?"

"Yeah. I guess you might have missed it. . .if memory serves, you were out of the country at the time. I think you had gone to Canada over Christmas? Anyhow, they caught them, and there was this big, huge media circus. It was the national news, actually. . .not so much the locals. The supposed fourth branch of the government, of course, took the position that the murderers were just misunderstood, and even if they killed my parents, then of course it wasn't their fault. My parents must have done something to offend them. Fortunately, the jury didn't look at that way. They were found guilty," Jocelyn replied, and Tiny winced at the bitterness in her voice.

He couldn't blame her. The poor kid was reeling from the loss of her parents, and then to be hit with that? No wonder she escaped to England and to grad school. Looking back now, he remembered his mother telling him about it. He remembered how furious she was that her long-time friends, the victims, were being made out to be the villains. Jocelyn shook her hair out of her eyes, then went on, "I was in England by that time, but Pauline kept me up to date. I wasn't called to testify. . .since I wasn't there, there wasn't much point, you know? I went back a few years ago, when Annie was a toddler. I saw your mother while I was there. . .she was great. Told me to call on her, if I needed anything."

Tiny nodded. That sounded like his mother. He said softly, "She always did think highly of you. . .and your mama. Ask you a question?" Jos nodded absently, and the agent asked somewhat hesitantly, for he knew it was a tender subject, "Do you hate the press because of your parents, or because of Annie? Or is it kind of combined?" Jocelyn looked up from her cards, actually looking startled, then her face settled into thoughtful lines. Not for the first time, he wondered why Ian Howe. . .Ian McDowell. . .whatever his name was. . .how he managed to see what so many others missed.

"I guess. . .I never really thought about it. Not like that, at least. When the latest storm started, after Annie was taken," and her voice quavered, ever so slightly, "it didn't really surprise me. I was expecting it, at least on some level. Expect the worst, and when something nice happens, you're pleasantly surprised. Expect the worst, and you can't be disappointed. I was hearing people on talk shows say that Annie shouldn't have been born. . .that. . .it made me ill, Tanner. My little girl. . ." Jocelyn dipped her head, unable to continue. Tiny wished he hadn't said anything at all. Awkwardly, he put his hand on a slumped shoulder. In a way, the accident was a safer subject.

What could he say? That she was overreacting? Yeah, right. He was big, but he certainly wasn't stupid. And as an FBI agent, he saw the darker side of people. He heard the same things she did. . .there were too many people who thought if you simply didn't upset anyone, everything would be fine. And if you did upset someone. . .well, whatever happened to you was your own fault. He was hearing a lot of that, from people who should know better. People who should know that there would always be individuals, people, who hated just because. Besides, he didn't dare tell Jos that she was overreacting, for the simple fact that it wasn't his daughter who was missing. His life was turned upside down nearly two years earlier when Special Agent in Charge Will Drake approached him with an insane proposition. However, that wasn't her problem.

At last, he said quietly, wanting to change the subject, "I remember when you were hurt so badly in that accident. It was. . .the day after my family had gone to the fair, and my mother kept saying, '_it could have been you instead of her, Tanner_.' It shook her up, so badly. She called the hospital, nearly every day, to see if you were awake. . .or maybe I should say, alert. And every day, she'd tell me, _'Priscilla isn't givin' up on her. She says, even if Jocelyn doesn't wake up today, there's still tomorrow_.' And she was so disappointed in me, when she found out that I wasn't lookin' after you at school."

He should have expected what came next. . .on the other hand, he distracted her from his previous blunder. Jocelyn immediately began to shake her head, but Tiny added firmly, "No, Jocelyn. She was right. You always stood up for me when we were kids. I should have done the same for you." And in his case, he was more physically intimidating than she was. Once he got over being embarrassed by his size, it was a lot easier to make his height work for him. Ok, it was true that he couldn't make the other kids be nice to her. But. . . He could have done a lot to look after her. Would have, could have, should have.

"That was twenty years ago, Tanner! I told you, yes, it hurt. And I was so angry. But I got over it, and I found out why the kids. . .why things went down the way they did. I never got those get-well cards. I don't know why I never saw them. . .maybe Mom showed them to me when I was half-out of it, then put them away later, I don't know. But I can. . .I get why the rest of the class was mad at me. But like I said, that was twenty years ago, and it's over. Besides. I didn't stand up for you. . .I didn't make the other kids be nice to you," she replied. Jocelyn glanced at her cards and said, "Aces."

"Go fish. And maybe you didn't stand up for me, but you also didn't laugh at me. You did ask me to sit at your table during lunch," Tiny responded immediately. Jocelyn picked up a card from the deck and grimaced briefly. However, the grimace changed to an expression of speculation. Tiny almost groaned. He knew that look! He said, "Okay, what are you up to now?" Jocelyn lifted her eyes from her cards and pressed her free hand to her chest with her best innocent, '_who, me_?' look. Which, he was forced to admit, was quite good. Not quite good enough, though. He pointed out to her, "Jocelyn. I'm a federal agent. And I've known you since we were five years old. You're up to something. I know you are!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Tanner," Jocelyn replied, fluttering her eyelashes. Jocelyn Patricia Ramsey. Fluttering her eyelashes. Tiny resisted the desire to look out the window. . .he was half-afraid he would see pigs flying past the hotel room. And calling the zoo to see if the leopards had changed their spots was also out. She added, "I was simply displaying good manners. . .not doing anything special. You didn't have anywhere to sit, and there was plenty of room at the table. Besides. After that, you'd be amazed at how much of the teasing directed at me decreased."

Tiny allowed himself a smirk, even as he wondered where Danae was. He knew traffic in DC was ugly, but he didn't think it was that bad! Unless. . .was it possible she was looking into that matter he mentioned to her? He hoped so. His instincts were yelling at him that something extremely weird was going on. In the meantime. . .

"You may not have thought you were doing anything special," Tiny said seriously, "but it meant the world to me." She smiled at him, her eyes still a little moist, and Tiny observed, "And I know the teasing decreased. I kinda let it be known that I didn't like it when nice people got hurt because they were nice. Our classmates didn't think too highly of my intelligence, but they were afraid of my height." Jocelyn actually went wop-jawed. Well. That was unexpected. That was good, though. Unexpected was always a good thing.

Jocelyn was on the point of answering, when a soft groan drew her attention. She lay her cards facedown (brat!), then slid off the bed to pad over to the still-sleeping Ian. Tiny had a short debate about whether or not he should look at her cards, then he remembered all the nightmares Ian had while they shared a cell. Nope. Best to join her. She might need his help if Ian really was having a nightmare. He pushed his chair back and lay his own cards facedown, then went to stand behind her. If it became necessary, he'd send her out of the room. Former lover, current lover. . .there were some things she just didn't need to know about.

Philip hung up the phone, smiling to himself. The lass was as good as her word, calling him to let him know their room number. Danae Marini was out getting Ian's prescriptions filled, while she and Tiny Masters (who, as it turned out, was a federal agent) kept watch over Ian. Philip wished her luck. That was a full-time job in and of itself, even with help. That was why he and Cam always shared that particular burden when the cousins were all together. Cam. He sometimes forgot that Cam was missing as well. Maybe because he was an adult, but he was still vulnerable, and he was still Philip's cousin.

The priest said a quiet prayer for his cousins as he began unpacking. He prayed that Cam would find the strength he needed to protect himself and Annie. . .that Annie was as brave as her father was. . .and that Ian would find the patience he needed to get through this. And for Jocelyn? He prayed that everyone she loved was returned to her. That she would remember she wasn't alone, though with Tiny Masters and Danae Marini there at her side, Philip thought it unlikely she would forget such a thing. People were strange sometimes, though. Sometimes, you could lose sight of what you had, even when it was sitting right there in front of you.

His cell phone rang, startling him, but he answered it immediately. . .then smiled when he heard a familiar young voice say, "Hey, Philip!" The priest sat down on the bed, preparing himself for a long conversation with the young girl who was likea little sister and a niece to him. Conversations with her were always long and thoroughly enjoyable. There was a brief silence, a coughing sound, and then Kat Corrigan continued after a moment, "Sorry about that. . . was trying to swallow something. How are you? Did you find your cousin okay?"

"I won't ask how ye knew that," Philip said dryly. He knew better. Kat laughed with delight, and Philip continued, "Yes, I did find Ian. He's hurtin' a little. . .some rather unpleasant types decided t' beat him up in prison, but he'll be all right." Kat gave a little exclamation of distress, and the priest reassured, "He's fine, Kat. . .he has some very good people takin' care of him, includin' the mother of his daughter. And trust me, if anyone can get that stubborn jackass t' behave himself, it's Jocelyn."

"What's she like? Jocelyn, I mean. I've been watching the news. . .and. . ." Kat's voice trailed off. Philip thought about how to answer her. It was never easy, explaining one person to another. Most people had many facets to them, so it was hard to pinpoint one quality in particular that stood out. Kat added after a moment, perhaps seeking to make things easier for him, "Let me ask this. . .is she anything like my mother?" There was a trace of bitterness in the young girl's voice, and it made Philip wince. He had wondered if her relationship with Rachel was still strained. _S'pose that answered that_.

"Uhm. . .well. . .in some ways, yes. She's like yer mum in that she's terribly worried about her little girl. But. . . she's keeping things t'gether rather well. Better than Ian in some respects, and that's why I worry about her. Maybe she loses it when it's just her and her best friend Danae. In other ways, she's like Alex. . .incredibly smart, with a wicked sense of humor. Although, t' be honest, I'd love t' introduce Jocelyn's best friend t' Nick or Alex. Danae is even more like Alex than Jocelyn. And in still other ways, she's like Kristen. . .Adams, I mean, not Rayne," Philip replied.

"I never got a chance to really know Kristen, but she was always nice to me. Do you still blame yourself for her death, Philip?" Kat asked. _Oooh, there was a loaded question_. One he didn't have time to answer, for his young friend went on, "You shouldn't, you know. She never wanted you to blame yourself. And she's okay. She really is, Philip. I know, Mom and Alex said she sacrificed her soul to save me and seal the portal under the House for a time, but that's not true. There's a part of her there, just like there's a part of her in our hearts. She's okay, and she's watching over everyone."

"She was only twenty-five when she died, Kat. She still had so much livin' t' do. And it's hard, t' know that she sacrificed her life t' save me," Philip admitted. She saved his life, losing her own in the process, and died in his arms. After a moment, he cleared his throat and continued, "But enough of that. Tell me, how are yer studies comin,' Katherine? The last time we talked, ye were a mite worried about one of yer classes. What was it? Communications? I find it very hard t' believe that!"

"The hard part isn't Communications, Philip, it's the presentation I'm working on. It's driving me insane. That's why I've been taking a break by watching the coverage about your cousin. Don't worry, I didn't tell Nick. He and I got into a big argument about you and your cousin. He was being Nick, and I told him to grow up. . .that his brother was no great shakes as a person, and that his father claimed to beat him up to make him stronger. I asked him if that was true, then why did his father beat up his mother. He didn't like that too much," Kat replied. Nooo. . .no, Philip didn't imagine he did. Especially not coming from a college student he helped to raise.

The college girl in question went on, "He told me that there was a lot I didn't understand about the world, and I couldn't begin to understand his father. I agreed, and told him that there was a lot we didn't know about Ian, and neither of us could begin to understand him. Alex finally broke in, and instructed us to 'agree to disagree' before we upset Kristy any more than we already had." Philip, who knew Alex very well indeed, could just imagine that conversation. Kat sighed, "He just. . .you know, he really made me mad. And he's like Mom, Philip. He doesn't get that I'm not the eight year old girl he first met. . .or even the twelve year old who caused so much trouble."

"It's hard for someone like Nick t' accept that. . .he's never handled change very well. Harder still t' accept that the little girl he gave horsie rides isn't so little anymore, much less that she's become a lovely young lady. Not that I have much room t' talk, after all. I gave ye a few horsie rides, m'self. That reminds me. . .what exactly is yer field of study? I know you mentioned that you were thinkin' of studyin' forensic anthropology, as Derek did. Did ye follow through on that, or did somethin' else catch yer eye?" Philip asked, steering the conversation away from the always-volatile Nick.

"Way to change the subject, Pip!" Kat teased, but answered, "Actually, I'm sticking with anthropology, but I'm thinking I might take a turn into Egyptology. The whole thing with Senephra hasn't. . .it's never really left me. I've never been able to really let go of her, I guess." Philip could understand that. The two were the same age during their first encounter. . .Senephra was frozen forever at the age of eight, while Kat grew up. The girl added, "In some ways, I almost feel as if a part of her has remained with me. As if. . .it's like. . .there's a part of her which has grown up through me. It's so unfair, Philip. . .she was only eight years old when she was killed!"

"It is unfair, Katherine," Philip agreed quietly, "but mind that ye don't take on too much of that burden. Ye aren't responsible for the endin' of Senephra's life. Ye can carry her in yer heart, ye can make sure ye never forget her, ye can make sure that other children aren't wrongfully kept from their families, as Senephra was. . .but don't live yer life accordin' to her. Ye, and Derek. . .ye set her free. She's wi' her family because of ye. And I don't think she would ever forget that. I know I wouldn't."

A soft laugh, then Kat answered, "You always did know just what to say, Philip. We've all missed you so much. I'm proud of you, and I don't know what that's worth, but I am. I am so proud of you." Philip tried to swallow and failed miserably. It actually meant a lot to him. In some ways, Kat was frighteningly mature. Her early life was the cause of that. She lost her father and her brother when she was only seven. Her mother struggled through the next year, fighting to keep her life together and fighting against the urge to return to the bottle. And then the Legacy came into her life. Over the next four years, until Derek blew up the House, Kat's life was endangered many, many times.

"It means everythin' t' me, lass," he answered hoarsely, "and I'm so terribly sorry that ye had t' grow up so fast." He knew it wasn't the last time someone in the Legacy (or once in the Legacy) expressed sorrow that she grew up so quickly. It was something they all regretted, and something they all tried to prevent. Unfortunately, circumstances sometimes took that out of their control. It was something Philip hated, and it was one reason why he remained in the parish. He could do just as much good in the parish. . .and if he could prevent a youngster from following the wrong path, it meant one less job for the Legacy down the road. Nick could never understand that. Philip had doubts about Derek understanding it, for that matter. He told them in the days before Kristen's death that he was still trying to save the world. . .but he was doing it one soul at a time.

Kat told him, "Don't be sorry, Philip. It isn't your fault, and it certainly isn't Derek's. You know. . .I'm actually ahead of my studies. If you like, I can fly out to DC and help you find your cousin's daughter." Oh, that was a tempting offer. Unfortunately, he couldn't accept that offer. There was a sound in the background, and Kat said regretfully, "I'm sorry, Philip, my roomie just reminded that I'm ahead in my classes, but I do have other obligations here. Is there anything I can do to help, anyhow?"

"If ye don't mind puttin' up posters around yer campus, just in case. . .we think whoever took Cameron and Annie is still in this general area, but I can send the poster t' ye in an attachment when I get m' laptop set up," Philip suggested. Kat enthusiastically assented, and Philip wrapped up their conversation. He sighed, rubbing his hand over his eyes. Something about Kat's words disturbed him. She really was a sensible young woman, getting most of the rebellion out of her system when she was thirteen. But she still had a mind of her own, and admitted to him that in a way, she was still haunted by Senephra. It was understandable, of course. . .so why did he have the uneasy feeling that it was a recipe for disaster?

He didn't actually fall asleep right away. Yes, he lay back against the pillows, and yes, he closed his eyes. He even started to relax. But he couldn't fall asleep. Not immediately. Instead, he just lay there, trying to breathe himself into sleep. When that didn't work, he focused instead on the soft conversation between Jos and Tiny. They had a lot of catching up to do, and he was intrigued by Tiny's assertion that he could have done more to help Jos when she returned to school. She never talked that much about her recovery time. . .they always figured there were too many painful memories there, and so, they didn't press. Which wasn't to say, they weren't curious. They were. Very curious.

After a while, though, he started tuning them out. There were things he needed to think about. . .who was doing this, and why. He had some theories, of course. But that was the problem. Theories could only do so much, the police needed leads, solid leads, or it wouldn't work. While he was in the Legacy, he learned a great deal about investigative work, and about following up leads. He employed many of those lessons in his dealings. And now, they would be necessary. Everything he learned in the Legacy, from his jobs, both legal and otherwise, he now had to employ to protect his family. Quite frankly, it scared the bloody hell out of him. How on earth was he to do this? Half the time, he was considered on the wrong side of the law. As part of the Legacy, he worked behind the scenes. It was only during the Templar hunt that he took point, and the loss of Shaw still haunted him. But who else was there? He was the one with the contacts, and he was the reason why his brother and his little girl were taken. This was his responsibility.

As he drifted off to sleep, his dreams were haunted by memories. . .and by fears. But wasn't that often the way? Dreams reflected what frightened you. . .what you desired. . .and sometimes, they could take you back to a time in the past. Good or bad. Things got mixed up in your head. He could feel Jocelyn's lips against his skin, her fingers running through his hair. He was aware of dreaming, but that didn't matter. It was still real. The dreams of their nights (and afternoons) together were his favorite, of course.

If he ever considered the notion (perish the thought!) that one night with her would cure him, he quickly learned otherwise. He didn't rearrange his life around her. . .not at first, at least. As their relationship intensified, however, it became the most natural thing in the world for him to arrange breaks from his business meetings when he knew she wouldn't be in class. Shaw would pick her up and bring her to the building where he was working, and they would spend an hour or two together. Sometimes, they would indulge in a quickie. . .other times, they would simply be together. But in the beginning, there were quite a few quickies.

That was, in large part, thanks to Jocelyn. She couldn't keep her hands off Ian. And, keeping his hands off her was equally difficult. She had only to look at him, and. . .well. . .he became extremely uncomfortable. He was nearly thirty-one years old, and he found himself reacting like an eighteen year old boy. The worst part of it was, he didn't give a damn. If he was alone, or away from her, he could put things out of his mind. Put him in the same room as her, and things would ignite between them. If they were at a party, he would spend the next few hours dreaming of ways to pay her back.

Of course, it never worked out like that, because she always made the first move. All right. Not always. Three and a half falls out of four. And the exceptions were always quite. . .memorable. There were times, regardless of what she or Shaw said, when Jos worked too hard. Most often when she was struggling with a paper. The more she struggled, the more difficult it became for her to focus. When Ian found three or four Coke cans sitting in front of her at her desk, it was time to get her away from the paper before she broke down in tears of frustration. For all that she was usually a sensible young woman, she was also damnably stubborn.

Before she broke down, Ian tried to soothe her by massaging her shoulders. It was never that it didn't work. . .more like, by the time she reached that point, a little extra effort would be needed. Not that Ian really minded, of course. She took care of him so often, he liked the chance to take care of her. And he did. He would pull her away from her paper, scoop her up into his arms, and carry her to their bed. After that. . .well. . .things usually got very interesting. She would fall asleep, curled up against him, and he would follow her not long after.

The release of tension (for lack of a better phrase) and the sleep always did her good. Shaw, when Ian found the courage to discuss these occurrences with his friend and second in command, likened it to a volcanic eruption. Jos held a lot inside. In large part, it was how she survived, how she protected herself from her own rage and sometimes her own grief. Flawed? Of course. But Jos never claimed to be perfect, and Ian wouldn't have loved her so much if she was perfect. So yes, it was like a volcanic eruption, when Jos finally relinquished control. And once the pressure was released. . . An interesting way to look at it, and Ian sometimes wished he kept his mouth shut, but he couldn't deny that Shaw had the right of it.

Of course, when she woke up, she was ready to go. . .not necessarily on her paper. On the contrary, Jos rarely got back to work on her paper immediately after waking up. Oh, no. No, his darling Jocelyn had other priorities, and they usually involved driving him absolutely barmy. Short trip, that. She loved to wake him with kisses. . .or, more to the point, she loved to wake him with kisses as she straddled him, pinning his wrists to the bed. She loved to wake him up like that. . .and he loved to be awakened like that. No matter how much he might groan about how dirty she played.

Which she did, of course. . .she played very dirty. She learned from the best in that respect. . .from Ian himself, from her flatmate Lily, from Shaw. It wouldn't have surprised him in the least, either, to discover Jos picked up a few new tricks in the last several years. One thing he never understood was how she managed to get his hands over his head without waking him up. . .he never understood and she refused to tell him, no matter how many times he asked her. When he dreamed, he could feel her fingers encircling his wrists and the weight of her body. To say nothing of her unfortunate habit of moving while she straddled him. Unfortunate, at least, for his mental health. His body, of course, loved every second of it.

But as it always did, the waking world interrupted. One moment, he and Jocelyn were kissing passionately. . . the next, he was staring up into the real woman's dark eyes. It was immensely tempting for him to tell the waking world, the real world, to sod off, but that really wasn't possible right now. Jocelyn looked at him warily, but asked, "Ian? Are you all right?" Uh. . .why was she asking? He didn't have to speak, because apparently, Jos could still read him. She added, her lips twitching, ever so slightly, "You were groaning. I thought you might be in pain." Well, he was. . .but not in the way she meant. Not that he would tell her that. And why was Tiny. . . Tanner. . .whatever the bloody hell his name was. . .why was he standing behind her? Oh, that was right. . .his former cellmate was a schoolmate of Jocelyn's. Ian was starting to sympathize with Jos. . .people were keeping secrets from him, as it turned out.

However, Tiny said, "Jocelyn. . .uhm. . ." He was cut off by the door opening. The attention of all three people in the room turned toward the door, including Ian, who propped himself up on one elbow. He promptly lay back down, gasping in pain. _Not a good idea. Not a good idea at all_! The motion used muscles that were still battered and aching. His heart was racing, his midsection and ribs were protesting rather loudly at this foolish action, and he was dizzy. Not one of his better days. Ian felt a gentle, small hand against the side of his face, and he turned his head in that direction. Tiny said through the buzz in Ian's ears, "Danae. . .glad you're back. Got his medication?"

"I do," came the now-familiar voice of his daughter's honorary aunt, "medication that the prison doctor prescribed as painkillers for Ian, plus I talked to the agents in Raleigh, and the SBI agents who have been helping them. Looks like we have a lead." Bugger the pain, Ian wanted to hear this! He forced his eyes open, and Danae came into focus, standing just behind Jos and Tiny. In all honesty, she didn't look so great herself. The FBI agent looked absolutely wiped out, about as exhausted as he felt. However, Danae had other ideas. She studied him intently, then said, "You look like you've been rode hard and put up wet."

Under ordinary circumstances, that would have been the last straw for Ian. Beaten up yesterday, finally acknowledging that he worked for the Legacy while tracking the Templar Treasure, and being silently tormented by his ex-girlfriend when she bent over. Now he was being compared to a horse? Definitely not a good day. However, Ian put that aside and listened. Any kind of lead was a break for them.

It was about bloody time she got back to the damn hotel! Danae Marini blew her hair out of her eyes as she trudged wearily into the elevator on the third floor of the parking garage. Her errands took a lot longer than she anticipated, but for the moment, everything was done. She had Ian's medicine (mainly painkillers), and she spoke briefly to the warden of the prison about Tiny. . .Tanner Masters' concerns. He had an idea whom Tiny meant, but he would need to do some research and get back to her. That was fine. He had her contact information.

The room. Speaking of the room and Tiny Masters, she hoped that both it (the room, not her fellow agent) and Ian were intact. She wasn't worried about Tiny performing a body-slam on Ian. Josie, on the other hand, was somewhat unpredictable. She might not perform a body-slam (_get your mind out of the gutter_, _Danae Victoria_, she lectured herself), but she could still leave him in a world of hurt if he made the mistake of pressing her right now. Not that Danae thought that was particularly likely. Ian didn't always think things through, but he was almost pathologically hesitant when it came to Jocelyn. He was. . .almost afraid of her.

But that wasn't true, either. He wasn't afraid of her. . .more like, he was afraid of pushing her too far. He hurt her, he knew that, and right now, all he wanted was his little brother and little girl back, and to protect Josie. Fortunately, with the telephone call she got while she was at the pharmacy, getting Ian's prescription filled, they were one step closer to doing just that (even if that information meant dealing with a pissed-off Ian, or worse, a pissed-off Josie). Of course, once they were home safely, the next step would be dealing with the Declaration mess. One step at a time. For now, she focused simply on reaching the room where she, Jocelyn, and Ian were staying. . .and, apparently, Tiny Masters as well.

Ian, not surprisingly, looked like hell. . .and he didn't appreciate being told as much. Typical male. However, she would give him a hard time later. Right now, she had information to disseminate (and why did that sound vaguely dirty to her? Oh, never mind. . .after she thought about it, it was fairly obvious). As she handed a vial of painkillers to Josie, and Tiny headed into the bathroom for a glass of water, Danae began, "The first thing you need to know is, the SBI agents who have been interviewing the neighbors came up with a composite sketch, and started running it through for comparison. They got a match."

Tiny returned to the room, and handed the glass of water to Josie. This resulted in a rather nasty glare from Ian, but Josie said quietly, "Ian, you can't even sit up without help right now. . .without a lot of pain." She got another glare, but from what Danae could tell, it had little to no effect on her. Hmm. That made sense, actually, as Will's glare had twice the wattage. Her friend continued, "Go ahead, Danae, and pay no attention to Macho-Man here." Danae bit her lip, to keep from laughing. Really, Ian was behaving pretty well. . .at least, he was at the moment. How he would react when he heard what she had to say. . .well, that was something else entirely. She braced herself. Because if Ian or Tiny didn't blow a gasket when she told them about the new information, it was a good bet that Josie would. And that would be worse.

"The guy's name is Cornelius Hansen, but he's always gone by 'Neely.' Late thirties to early forties. He's got a rap sheet about as long as my hair. One of those individuals who can be fairly called a 'loser.' Worse yet, he's mean, and he's stupid. Never a particularly good combination for anyone who might get in the way," Danae explained. His stupidity was why someone saw him in the first place. Any self-respecting surveillance specialist knew enough not to get caught. She could tell from Ian's expression that he agreed. Which was she especially regretted her next words, as she told them, "According to what our guys have dug up, Neely Hansen is a long-time associate of one Hector Winters." The reaction from both Ian and Tiny was expected, but no less electrifying. Tiny stared at her in astonishment, while Ian's eyes widened with a combination of shock and fury.

But it was Josie who said slowly, as if she was piecing this together, "Hector Winters? Isn't that the guy who beat up Ian in prison?" Danae nodded, and her best friend continued, her voice trembling, "So it's a good bet that this Hector Winters is involved somehow in the kidnapping?" Again, Danae nodded. It wasn't a sure thing, of course. . .but it was awful interesting how the same day Ian learned of his daughter and brother's abductions, a former associate of one of the suspects led a gang to beat him up in the showers. Well. . .that day, the following day. The point was, the timing was suspicious.

"It's not a certainty, Josie. . .but the timing is real interesting. There's something else. One of the other neighbors was able to give a partial license plate number to the SBI. They noticed it, because it had out-of-state tags," Danae told them. That was something else that worked in their favor. The neighbors surrounding Jocelyn and Annie's house noticed the vehicle in the first place. In the second place, they noticed the out of state plates. Ian rolled his eyes in disgust, but kept silent. Danae ignored him pointedly (they already knew his opinion of the kidnappers, but they didn't look gift clues in the mouth), then went on, "The tags belong to New York State, and the general description fits a van that was reported stolen back in 1996."

"Mistake number three. . .never use a stolen vehicle for surveillance. Amateurs," Ian said, shaking his head in disgust, "I probably shouldn't complain, but those are still amateur-type mistakes." Agreed. But here was something else that would piss off Ian to the nth degree. The former thief went on, "I can tell by your expression that there's more to come, Danae, so please. . .tell us, and get it over with." He sounded exhausted, and a quick glance at Josie told her that she noticed as well. Danae chose to tell him what he wanted to know, and decided to worry later that he was starting to read her.

"Okay. Using the partial we got, and the description of the van, we got the rest of the license plate. Once we had that information, we ran it, and found out that it originally belonged to a man named 'Charles Bannion' in Albany, New York. He disappeared in 1996, shortly before his van was reported missing. He worked for a world-wide corporation, called '_Lumen_.' According to his boss, an Englishman named Sir Edmund Tremain, he, Bannion, and a third colleague, Dr. Claire Spencer of Hong Kong, traveled to San Francisco, California to investigate allegations of wrong-doing within the corporation. While staying at the home of a fourth colleague, Dr. Derek Rayne, Bannion was swept out into the ocean. The search for his body was called off after seven days, and he was ruled legally dead. When Sir Edmund returned to the Albany office to deal with Bannion's personal effects, the van was stolen," Danae replied.

Ian paled when she mentioned first Charles Bannion's name, and the remaining color seeped from his face with the names of Edmund Tremain, Claire Spencer, and Derek Rayne. However, he didn't make any comment. . . which worried Danae all over again. And Josie started with the mention of Derek Rayne, but that was understandable. Out of them all, only Tiny looked puzzled. Worried, but puzzled. Danae concluded, "This is troubling, because the Lumen Corporation has ties to the Luna Foundation, by way of Derek Rayne. He's the chairman of the Luna Foundation. And Jocelyn escaped the second kidnapping attempt, because she was called to help with an exhibit at a Luna Foundation museum. Is it all a coincidence? Possibly. But those many coincidences together? That makes me real nervous."

Tiny and Josie both nodded, looking stunned. However, it was Ian who said quietly, "You're not the only one. You're not the only one who is familiar with the Luna Foundation, Jos." His voice filled with bitterness as he spoke of the organization. Josie looked at her former lover, frowning. She recognized that tone. She knew what it meant. Danae didn't, but she knew a curve was about to come her way. Ian said heavily, "I've done work for the Luna Foundation in the past. They. . .they're meant to be a philanthropic organization. There are still good people, devoted to make a difference. There are others. . .who believe the Luna Foundation, that their purpose is to protect the Luna Foundation itself. Not ordinary people."

Josie straightened, staring at Ian, and whispered, "Operations of questionable legality." What? Danae looked at her best friend, who shook her head in astonishment and repeated, "Operations of questionable legality. Of course! That's what Shaw always said, when I asked him what you were doing and he didn't want me to know. It was. . .it was a sort of code, it meant that the line was blurred and the less I knew, the better. It didn't happen that often, that's why I remembered it. Those operations of questionable legality. . .you were working for the Luna Foundation then, weren't you?"

"Yes," Ian admitted wearily, "The Lumen Corporation is the world-wide affiliate of the Luna Foundation. Affiliate, not branch. The Luna Foundation isn't a branch of the Lumen Corporation, either. Think about it. '_Lumen_' is Latin for '_light_,' and what is '_Luna_' in English? The moon. Reflected light. Oh yes. . .I know about the Luna Foundation. So does Philip." Danae exchanged a glance with Josie. Things just became a helluva lot more complicated. However, Josie walked to the nightstand and picked up her cell phone. Every little bit of information would help. It didn't make any sense, though. . .not yet, at least. More information. She needed a lot more information.


	15. Family Versus Blood

Surprising as it may seem, here's another chapter! The muses seem to be behaving, so while they are, I'm taking full advantage! I'm trying something new with the dividers, so no one gets a headache from the run-on sections. And an additional note, concerning the contents of this chapter. . .the rant described by Alex Rayne in the final section of this chapter, her confrontation with Rachel. . .that actually happened many, many times on the show from which she and the other members of the Legacy were taken. Unfortunately, I'm not exaggerating what Rachel is/was like. I'm thinking of a confrontation between Jocelyn and Rachel at some point, just for the purposes of comparison. Might not be this story, though. . .I already have too many characters.

Onward and upward!

Chapter Fourteen

Family Versus Blood

Within moments of Ian's revelation that he worked with the Luna Foundation from time to time, Jocelyn had her cell phone out (most likely to call Philip, to confirm Ian's observations). She walked a short distance away, her eyes never leaving the obviously-exhausted Ian. The conversation lasted no more than three minutes, maybe a little less. Once it was concluded, she closed her cell phone with one finger and quietly beckoned Danae into the bathroom, obviously disturbed by this newest revelation. That was good. . .she wasn't the only one. Tiny Masters would watch over Ian, while the two women talked. It looked like an. . .interesting. . .discussion. Usually, if Jocelyn wanted to talk privately with Danae, she would jokingly invite her to join her in her 'office,' a reference to _Happy Days_. Not this time. Even without her fear for Annie and Cam, Josie simply wasn't in the mood for it.

Once the door closed behind them, Josie asked without preamble, "What do you think?" Danae shrugged. Honestly, at this point, she no longer knew what to think. This case was bad enough when it was a simple kidnapping. With each new revelation came more questions, and even though she knew more about the heist than Jocelyn, Danae had the uneasy feeling that she didn't know everything. She told them what she learned. . . now, they had to figure out what it meant. Well, also, she had to email the latest news to Special Agent in Charge Carter.

Josie went on, "I called Philip and confirmed what Ian told us, about the Luna Foundation. He also hinted that Ian was working for the Foundation when he was hunting the Templar Treasure. It isn't that I don't believe him. . .it just doesn't add up for me. The Luna Foundation is supposed to be a, a foundation to help people. I did research on them. . .not only do they fund archaeological digs and museums, they also provide pro bono lawyers. It doesn't add up. Why would an organization like that want the Templar Treasure?"

"Aside from more money?" Danae asked dryly, and Josie nodded with a sigh, sitting down on the edge of the tub. The FBI agent took the only remaining seat, the toilet lid (which was, thankfully, down), and replied, "I don't know. Philip didn't give you any details?" This time, Josie shook her head, folding her arms over her chest in a gesture that was half-exasperation and half-protective. Danae exhaled slowly, trying to put the pieces together in her mind. Josie was right. This just didn't add up. She said after a moment, mindful of the secrets she needed to keep, "All right, what if they did ask Ian to get the Templar Treasure? That doesn't mean they gave him permission to steal the Declaration of Independence!"

"True. It just. . .there's just something really weird about this. Why ask Ian to recover the Templar Treasure? Number one, they know Ian is willing to cross certain lines if he believes it necessary. If they want to keep things above board, why not someone else? Someone who was willing to play by the rules. . .someone like Ben Gates? Why not go directly to him, instead of 'encouraging' Ian to seek him out?" Josie questioned. Danae nodded in acknowledgment of her friend's point. Looking encouraged, the other woman continued, "Secondly, why would the Luna Foundation want the Templar Treasure? Why is it so special? It doesn't add up."

Danae felt an odd tingling down her spine. Josie was right. Presumably, the Luna Foundation knew of Ian's background, knew his methods, knew what lines he was willing to cross. They hired him for a very specific purpose. He played for keeps, it was widely acknowledged. So why not back Ben Gates, who supposedly would play by the rules? Well, yes, in a manner of speaking, they did. But why not more directly? Unless. . . Danae said softly, "They wanted someone they knew and trusted. . .someone to keep an eye on the others seeking the treasure." Josie looked up with a frown, and the agent continued, "Ian wasn't just supposed to find the treasure. . .he was supposed to keep an eye on the Gates party."

"But why?" Josie repeated, and if the question wasn't as puzzling to Danae, she probably would have been annoyed by the repeated query. She didn't know why! However, she also knew that Josie wasn't asking her, she was asking herself. Her friend went on, "What is so special about that particular Treasure? What did they know that the rest of us didn't?" Danae lifted her head to look at her friend more directly, who was murmuring under her breath, "They didn't trust the Gates party. Why? Is there something in there that the Luna Foundation fears? Some sort of artifact? That doesn't make any sense, either. Or maybe it does. . . Danae, where was the Templar Treasure found? I mean, not what geographical location, but where?"

"It. . .well, it was underground, as I recall, in a sealed room. Why? What are you thinking?" Danae asked, struggling to catch up. What was going on in that crazy mind of hers? It wasn't that often when Josie could lose her during the middle of a conversation, but when she did, well. . . The agent was reminded of the immortal words of Pete Thornton, MacGyver's best friend and boss, in her favorite television show as a teenager, _MacGyver_, '_Mac, I may not know how your mind works. . .but I know when it works_.' It applied to Josie as well. And Cam. And Annie, to a degree. And Ian. The more she thought about it, the more Danae realized her little circle of friends was among the most unpredictable people she knew. To a degree, she could predict what her colleagues would do. This group? Not so much.

"Oh. . .of course. I should have seen it before! Danae, do you remember the stories of the curse of King Tut's tomb, and the misfortunes that befell the people who found it?" Josie asked. Danae nodded slowly, silently reflecting that her best friend was the only person she knew who would use 'befell' in a sentence without even thinking about it. Josie went on after a moment, "No one in the scientific community ever believed in a curse, though the events were eerie. However, over the last few years, the theory has been advanced that when the tomb was opened, it released bacteria and viral infections that were centuries old."

Now Danae saw where Josie was going with this. There were tremendous gains in the medical community during the last four centuries, and many of the diseases from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries were all but wiped out. If those diseases were reintroduced within a population unprepared for it. . .the consequences could be devastating. She observed, "The Templar Treasure was buried at least three hundred, maybe even four hundred years ago. No matter where it was, the location was a secret. . . it was sealed away. It has been sealed away for centuries. . .you think that's why the Luna Foundation was worried about the Gates group getting their hot little hands on it?" Nasty bit of alliteration there, but it got the point across. And the more she thought about it, the more it made sense to her.

"Yes, I do. Think about it, Danae, it fits! Especially since some of those artifacts are thousands of years old. Who knows what kind of bacteria and such they carry? Not even diseases, as such, but bacteria. Things which haven't been seen in the modern world for decades, for centuries! Maybe the Luna Foundation was wrong. . .as little respect as I have for the press, I can't imagine them covering up deaths from diseases that haven't been seen in hundreds or thousands of years. Let's face it, with the press, if it bleeds, it leads," Josie murmured, running her fingers through her hair in exasperation. Danae wasn't so sure about that, however. And it wasn't so much the press as the medical community itself.

"But what if there have been deaths, deaths that were wrongly attributed to something else? After all, modern diseases are sometimes misdiagnosed. . .so why can't older diseases be disguised as newer ones?" she questioned. Josie sighed once more, nodding her acknowledgment of this possibility. And take that in a different direction. Danae asked next, "There's something else. . .if you're right about the possible diseases these artifacts carry, why aren't they surrounded by legends of death and disease? I mean, you told me yourself that there were stories which surrounded Senephra's mummy. Why didn't we hear something similar about the Templar Treasure?"

"Maybe there are. . .let's face it, Danae, it was finally buried sometime in the seventeenth century. Maybe even the sixteenth century. The point I'm trying to make is, there were a lot more diseases back then. Admittedly, sailors are a superstitious bunch. . . you should know, you've dated a few SEALS yourself. I don't know. I don't have all the answers. I'm just telling you what I've learned," Josie replied honestly. Danae nodded thoughtfully. No matter which way you sliced it, this Declaration caper was getting more complicated by the minute. If they were right, then this Luna Foundation clearly considered the Gates faction the hostile party in the entire situation. On the other hand, if Ian was working for the Luna Foundation during the Templar Treasure hunt, then why did they let him go to prison?

Which brought up something else. She looked at her best friend, asking quietly, "And what about the other part? The ties between the Luna Foundation and the kidnapping? Based on what he said, it sounds like Ian is beginning to think that those rogue members of the Luna Foundation that he mentioned are the ones who have Annie and Cam." Josie nodded. Evidently, she came to the same conclusion. The trouble was, every answer. . . every reason why those rogue elements of the Luna Foundation would have her niece and Cam. . .they all pointed back to something frightening. The kidnapping would give them power. The question, the all-consuming question was. . .what kind of power?

"It could just be a coincidence. . .those amateurs, as Ian calls them, being connected to the Luna Foundation, or the Lumen Corporation, whatever you wanna call it. I mean, look at us. I was with Ian for years. . .but I'm not a thief. Cam is his brother, Annie is his daughter. The thing that worries me is, go one way and it's guilt by association. But, go the other way, and you risk losing a lead. I'm no cop, and even I can see that. It's like researching in that respect. You gotta follow up even the most insignificant lead," Josie replied. Danae nodded. . ._boy, she was right about that_. Again, Josie shook her head, muttering, "I don't know what to think."

"If it's any consolation, I'm in the same situation. Everything I thought I knew about this entire Declaration heist has been turned upside down. Your ex is real good at that, did you know that?" Danae queried her best friend with a teasing grin. Josie laughed a little at that, nodding in rueful acknowledgment. However, just as quickly, her smile died, and it was replaced by a confused frown. Danae inquired, "Jocelyn Patricia? What are you thinking? I know that look, and it usually doesn't bode well for someone." Josie stuck her tongue out at her and crossed her eyes at the same time, making Danae laugh this time.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. . .real mature! No, I was just thinking. There's something else here that doesn't make any sense. . .an ever-growing list," Josie replied. She was actually staring at the faucet of the sink, as if that could straighten things out for her. _Yeah. Not really likely, dearest_, she thought. However, her friend's words drove all the laughter out of Danae's mind, as Josie went on, "According to everything I've read, the only way to actually find the Templar Treasure was by using the map on the back of the Declaration. And I can't believe I didn't think of this before. . .I guess I was too angry with Ian to really think about it. But. . .if that's the case, then how did Ben Gates find the treasure? If Ian's the one who stole it. . .how did Ben Gates get the information that allowed him to find it?"

Ooooh. . .boy. Just how in the hell was she supposed to answer that, without betraying her promise to Ian? It was unnecessary, because Josie wasn't finished. She said in a musing voice, "I was so angry with him because of that, you know. And, and I'm not even sure how much of it was shock and how much of it was real anger. I remember, when I went to tell him about Annie, I thought about telling him, '_what if an American stole Magna Carta, you big lug_?' That's what it's properly called, you know. Magna Carta, not 'the' Magna Carta. But he was so gutted when I told him about Cam and Annie, I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I yelled at him a little for it. . .it just wasn't the right time, you know? And. . .really, there hasn't been a right time. Danae, what if we're right? What if Ian was trying to get the Treasure for the Luna Foundation, for the reasons we talked about? How do I ever make it up to him?"

Now this, Danae could handle, even with the naked pain in her friend's eyes. The fear that somehow, she failed Ian. The agent left her perch on the toilet lid and knelt in front of Jocelyn, taking her hands. Once she has Josie's undivided attention, she said quietly, "If we're right, then I know you'll find a way to make things right with him. I'm not supposed to tell you this, but he still loves you. And you know as well as I do, when you love someone, there isn't too much you won't forgive. He loves you, Josie. . .so much. But right now, we gotta focus on Annie, and on Cam, and on getting them back safely. Once they're home, and the goblins who took them face justice, then we can take care of you and Ian."

Josie nodded, staring at Danae almost desperately. The FBI agent understood now why Ian wanted to keep the truth about the Declaration caper from Josie. He was right. God help her, he was right, and she would keep his secret, just like he asked her to. It might cause another rift with Josie, but that was a chance she had to take. Almost hating herself for it, she nonetheless asked, "But if we're right. . .why hasn't he said something? Why serve the time, and not tell why?" 'Cause that was a valid question, given the circumstances. . .and it would help to re-focus Josie's attention.

Her friend was silent for a moment, then finally said, "I'm not sure. Ian has some very, ah. . .very different notions of honor. I don't know how else to put it. . .just. . .his ideas of honorable are a little bit unusual. He wouldn't try to play the extenuating circumstances card. He would see jail as a. . .well, as a suitable punishment for failing. And because he was caught, he failed. And then the whole matter of Derek's death. . . it's. . .then there's the matter of his protective streak. If he thought he was protecting someone he loved from harm, then Ian would admit even to something he didn't do." _Right_, Danae thought, _which warrants another look into this_. She made a mental note to copy Mr. Mueller on the note to Agent Carter. Josie sighed deeply, and Danae squeezed her hands reassuringly.

"So. . ." the agent said softly, and Josie raised her eyes to Danae's, who continued, "So, what comes next? Tiny is looking after Ian. . .hopefully, he has taken his medication. It'll probably knock him out for a few hours, and I'm guessing that you and Tiny have been catching up on old times. So. . .what do we do the next time Ian falls asleep? I have emails to send to Special Agent in Charge Carter and Mr. Mueller, updating them on what's been going on. Oh, that reminds me. . .I just gotta tell you this." Best to tell Josie this, while they were away from the men. It was likely to embarrass them. Especially Tiny. Maybe Ian, as well. You just could never tell with him.

Still holding Josie's hands, Danae returned to the toilet lid, because it was a lot more comfortable than the floor. She smiled impishly and said, "This is something that Mrs. Morgan told me, something that happened about six months ago. You know that red hat scarf that she wears to all of their meetings, as part of her Queen outfit?" Josie nodded with a quizzical smile, but said nothing, allowing Danae to continue, "Well, due to a series of health problems and mishaps within the chapter, there wasn't a meeting scheduled for about two months, and so she loaned it to Agent Carter, telling her, '_oh, maybe you can use it_.' Well, she needed her scarf back, and asked, '_did you have a chance to use it_?' Agent Carter says, '_yeah, but I think that's all you wanna know about that_.' Well, you've met Mrs. Morgan."

"On more than one occasion. She reminds me of a somewhat older version of Pauline. And my cousin, in that situation, would say something to the effect of, '_well, you're my cousin, so the odds are good that it involved bedposts and the wrists of a devastatingly sexy man_.' How close am I?" Josie asked, imitating her cousin's voice with near perfection, before returning to her normal tones. Danae barely muffled a giggle with the back of her hand, and just nodded. Josie grinned, asking, "How did Agent Carter react to her mother's comment?"

"About how you would imagine. According to Mrs. Morgan, she turned bright red, to the very tips of her ears, and almost whined, '_Mo-ther_!' Kinda like on _Bewitched_, when Endora did something Samantha didn't approve of. . .you know, turning Darren into something or other. Of course, Mrs. Morgan uses that as leverage, teasing Agent Carter every chance she gets," Danae replied, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. Her own mother did the same thing, telling Danae, '_I don't care how old you are, you're still my daughter, and you always will be. I **live** to tease you_!' Of course, her dear big brother gave their mother even more ammunition than she did.

Josie just smiled very sadly, and Danae decided it was time to change the subject. She squeezed her friend's hands once more, to get her attention, and said, "C'mon. Let's go check on the boys. I'll send those emails out, and you and Tiny can continue with catching up. I don't know what freaked me out more. . .finding out that he was FBI, or finding out that the two of you grew up together." She rose to her feet, pulling Josie with her. The agent opted not to tell Josie the rest of what she learned while she was out. The new information might come in handy, but then again, it might not. For now, she would keep it to herself.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

He really shouldn't have told Abby about Carolan and Jade's past. It wasn't actually any of her business, but at the same time. . . Patrick Henry Gates shook his head as he hung up the phone. Carolan and Jade were both fine. . .they would be home the following night. Carolan knew about the latest, including the fact that Abigail knew. She wasn't really happy about that, but promised they would talk when she got home, and in the meantime, he was to remember that she did love him. She said no more, since Jade was in the car, and instead, changed the subject to something else that must have unnerved her sister. . .the topic of Annie Ramsey.

Not surprisingly, his lady was furious on behalf of the little girl, and on behalf of the child's mother. She had some blistering words for comments she heard about Jocelyn Ramsey having only herself to blame for becoming involved with a criminal. Then again, maybe he should have expected that. . .Carolan and Jade's tormenter was someone known to them, someone trusted by their parents. No doubt, she heard it before.

Patrick made a mental note to himself to keep her and Riley apart. Carolan was likely to rip the young computer expert to shreds the first time he questioned helping Dr. Ramsey to find her daughter. And Riley was already afraid of Carolan. The first time Carolan defended Ian to Riley and the boy pointed out that Ian threatened him, Carolan cocked a brow and retorted, "Well, he obviously didn't carry through on his threat, as you're still here. . .personally, I think that shows an enormous amount of restraint on his part!" Even now, months later, Patrick could still see Riley's stunned expression.

So. . .yes. Putting Riley and Carolan in the same room would be a very bad idea. Putting them in the same house would be even worse. For that matter, Riley and Jade would mix like oil and water. Patrick thought about that for a moment, then shook his head. No. . .no, that was being too kind, really. Riley and Jade would mix like oil and fire. . .the resulting explosion had the potential to be incredibly nasty. Ben would jump in to defend Riley, Carolan would defend her younger sister. . .really, really not worth the aggravation in the long run. No. While Carolan was eager to help Dr. Ramsey (perhaps an attempt at redemption. . .being unable to protect her own sister), Patrick would find a way that didn't entail contact with Riley.

Which brought something else up. Dr. Ramsey herself. Patrick heard Riley refer to her as 'Lady MacBeth,' a comment which brought Abigail's wrath down on his head the first time she heard it come out of his mouth (and they wouldn't discuss what Carolan would do if she heard that). As his daughter-in-law said, the only thing Shakespearean about her was her sadness. Oh, there was joy in her, too. . .just like there was joy in Shakespeare, as well as sorrow. But a Lady MacBeth? Somehow, after seeing pictures of the girl in the paper, when the news first broke about her daughter's kidnapping. . .Patrick just couldn't picture her staring at the palm of her hand and demanding, '_out out, damned spot_!' Nope. The picture just wouldn't form.

Abigail also told him about the doll, Josephine. . .Ian Howe's gift to his daughter on her fifth birthday. A doll created in the same way pioneer women made dolls for their little girls, an act of love that caused a lump to form in his throat. He thought his daughter would have dark hair like her mother, so he had her doll made with dark hair, almost black. Instead, however, she was a combination of both parents, with red hair. She had her father's coloring, only darker, and her mother's features, miniaturized. Red hair and dark green eyes. Annie immediately named her doll 'Josephine,' because she had dark hair like her mother, and '_Josephine's close to Jocelyn, and that's Mommy's name_.' That statement from Jocelyn Ramsey, which Abigail repeated to him, created another lump in his throat.

And, of course, he knew about Agent Danae Marini. He knew that she was almost rabidly protective of her best friend. . .that she belonged to the Charlotte FBI Field Office (that, of course, was courtesy of Agent Sadusky). . .and that she regarded Patrick's son and daughter-in-law with barely-concealed hostility and outright suspicion. He knew that she knew that Ben was the one who initially stole the Declaration, and Ben's explanation of keeping it out of Ian's hands didn't hold much water with her. She feared that they wanted something from Jocelyn Ramsey in exchange for their aid in finding Annie. . .the fact that she didn't know what they might want bothered her greatly. Personally, he wasn't sure if he should be offended on behalf of his son and daughter-in-law, or amused by the whole idea.

He also knew that Agent Sadusky regarded her with as much suspicion as she regarded Ben and Abigail. The agent told him as much, explaining that she was a driving force behind the attempt to get Ian Howe out of prison. He didn't trust her, and he didn't trust Jocelyn Ramsey, the latter of whom once had the bad judgment to fall in love with Ian Howe, and could still be under his spell. He didn't trust Agent Marini to do her job properly, because she was Jocelyn Ramsey's best friend. But he was over-ruled, not only by Agent Marini's supervisor, but by someone who was higher up, and who believed if Agent Marini was on the case, they could better keep an eye on her, and make sure she was under control.

There was a method to that madness, he had to admit. Force her off the case, and she would work on it unofficially, through unofficial and dangerous channels. Allow her to help, to look after her best friend, and they could keep an eye on her. Make sure she didn't do something incredibly stupid. Did she lack objectivity? Of course. But so did Agent Sadusky. . .who was a Freemason, as Ben learned at the end of his hunt. To this day, Patrick didn't know why Ian's defense attorneys didn't bring it up. Maybe they didn't know about it. That was the only thing that made sense to Patrick at least.

He thought back to Abigail's comments about her meeting with the pair. Jocelyn Ramsey was obviously frightened and sad, but what concerned Patrick was what his daughter-in-law didn't say. When he thought about it. . .why wasn't she angry? Her daughter was kidnapped, along with a dear friend. Presumably, former associates of Annie's father were behind the abduction. Patrick heard the newscasts, the barely concealed contempt for both the young scholar and her daughter. Where was Jocelyn Ramsey's fury? It had to be there. At herself, at the kidnappers, at the media, at Ian. . .it had to be there.

Buried under layers of fear and guilt, most likely. Guilt at being unable to protect her child, at being late coming home from work that day. . .even guilt for not being kidnapped as well. But there would come a point when her anger would burst through the protective shell of that fear and that guilt, and the fallout was likely to be ugly because of how deeply suppressed it was. He promised himself that he would keep an eye on her once she and Abigail began to work more closely together. Unlike Riley, he didn't think she was any kind of Lady MacBeth. . .just a woman who wanted her child back. That didn't make her any less dangerous when her anger finally had what she thought was a reasonable target. In fact, it made her more dangerous.

Patrick very much doubted that she was a bad person. An all-too-human, flawed young woman, but not a bad person. But everyone had their limits, and based on what Abigail told him, Jocelyn Ramsey was holding in far too much rage than was healthy. His late wife, Lily, was the same way. She absorbed each hurt, each slight, each worry without a word of complaint. . .not because she was trying to be a martyr, but because she had other priorities. But when someone pushed her too far, it took ages to pick up the pieces when she lost it. And Patrick had a feeling he knew what the trigger would be.

Nearly everyone in the country believed that Ian was the only one who stole the Declaration. One of the exceptions was Danae Marini, who flat-out warned Ben and Abigail that Ian was under her protection, just as Dr. Ramsey was. Something else they shouldn't tell Riley. That list just kept growing, it seemed. Abigail also admitted that Dr. Ramsey had no idea just how involved the treasure hunt was. That would be the trigger, Patrick was certain. It was in everyone's best interest that she not learn the whole truth. Not because it made Ian Howe any less guilty, but because that would matter not one whit to her. Jocelyn Ramsey was a dangerous young woman. . .dangerous to those who would harm the people she loved, and dangerous to anyone foolish enough to underestimate her. That was one mistake Patrick Henry Gates had no desire to make.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

Despite the story involving Mrs. Morgan and Special Agent Carter, which did make her laugh, Jocelyn quickly grew solemn once more as she and Danae left the bathroom together. Her mind was awhirl with the new revelations. Each time she thought she had a handle on this bizarre situation, things just got even more bizarre. Most troubling of all to her was Ian's unspoken fear that the Luna Foundation, a group that was supposed to help people, was involved somehow in Annie and Cam being taken.

They didn't know that, of course. They didn't know a lot of things. But it frightened her. The connect-the-dots that Danae did, explaining how the rank amateurs, who nonetheless succeeded in kidnapping her little girl, were entangled with the Lumen Corporation, and by extension, the Luna Foundation. . .it could be a coincidence, of course. After all, the Luna Foundation was a philanthropic organization, and it was entirely possible that they knew fully well that the men in question had a past, and they offered them a second chance. It happened every day, after all. It wasn't so far-fetched.

The trouble was, she knew Ian. He actually looked haunted when he talked about his dealings with the Luna Foundation, something that worried her deeply. Ian was one of the most practical, and pragmatic, men she knew. As much as Shaw's death devastated him, he forged ahead. . .in part because he knew Shaw would have never forgiven him for giving up. Ian did what had to be done. That was one of the things she loved about him. Barbaric or not, she knew that he was willing to kill to protect her and their daughter. If that had to be done, so be it.

He was also a man who didn't look for skeletons around every corner. That was why his haunted expression bothered her so much. It wasn't like Ian. Which meant, there was a very good possibility that he was right. And there was more to that, too. Her own suspicions about the Declaration heist. . .if he was doing it for the Luna Foundation, and they had a reason for wanting it, then why didn't he say so at his trial? Why go to jail, if there were extenuating circumstances? Why not bring those up? Despite what she told Danae, about what was going through Ian's head, only Ian could answer that for sure. And unfortunately, she didn't think he would discuss it. That was his style. . .or rather, it wasn't his style.

Oooh, this was so frustrating! Jocelyn had the uneasy feeling that her three companions were keeping something very important from her. . .and at the same time, she also had the feeling that she really didn't want to know whatever secret they were keeping. Tanner promised her that the information they were holding back had to do with national, and international, security, and wouldn't place her daughter or Cam in further danger. She wanted to believe that, and didn't believe that Tanner was lying to her. It was just. . .things got out of hand.

"Question," Danae said suddenly, interrupting Jocelyn's worrying. The scholar gave her friend her undivided attention, and the agent went on, "You call him, 'Tanner.' I kinda got the impression that he's always been called 'Tiny.' Why don't you?" Oh. Well, that was a question that she could answer. A quick glance toward the bed told her that Ian was asleep once more. Tanner himself was listing in his chair, in danger of falling asleep. They still had to figure out what to do about a bed for him.

"I've never called him 'Tiny.' Just didn't seem respectful, you know? I mean, he obviously isn't tiny, and it. . .besides, I've always liked the name 'Tanner.' And he was so nice to me in school. He and his mom. . .now, she was tiny! She was smaller than I am. . .not a word out of you, Danae Victoria! And she is still smaller than I am. . .I should amend that. She's still alive, bless her heart. And feisty! In some ways, she's a lot like Mrs. Morgan. She and my mom were best friends for years and years. After Mom and Dad were killed, Mrs. Masters sent me this wonderful condolence card, tellin' me how much she would miss them, and how much she hoped 'the dirty trash' who killed them would be caught," Jocelyn replied.

"I like the sound of her already," Danae said with a grin, and Jocelyn nodded. Oh yes, Mrs. Masters could be an unholy terror. She had five or six children in the neighborhood who were 'hers,' and Jocelyn fit into that category. While she remembered nothing of the accident, and little of the weeks that followed, she remembered all the times Varina Masters would sneak into her hospital room. She brought cupcakes and cookies, fruit juice, comic books, regular books. . .anything that would help pass the time. Sometimes, she would just sit and talk about growing up in the 1950's, and how much things had changed. She told of her daddy, who fought in the Second World War, but didn't talk about it until he got to the end of his life.

"Her name's Varina Mary Taggart Masters, and she was named after Varina Davis, the First Lady of the Confederacy, and Mary Todd Lincoln," Jocelyn said with a faint grin. Danae blinked in surprise, but said nothing as the two young women sat down on the bed opposite Ian's. His chest rose and fell steadily, reassuring her. Jocelyn settled back against the pillows, Danae stretching out beside her, as the scholar continued, "Anyhow, Tanner was her second child. . .he has an older sister, Bethan. Older, not big. Bethan's about as tiny as her mother. Anyhow, after Tanner was born, Miss Varina had to wait several years before having a third child."

"Have I mentioned I love Southern names? Especially the old Southern names, like Varina and Bethan. And I'll always think of 'Annabel' as being a Southern name," Danae confided with a grin. Jocelyn shook her head, grinning herself. No, actually, Danae never mentioned that. She should have guessed it, though, because she noticed the way Danae's eyes glazed over when they came across an old Southern name. She practically drooled, when you came right down to it.

And Danae wasn't finished, anyhow. She made herself more comfortable, continuing, "I remember, the first time I met Mrs. Morgan, I had to ask her where 'Broceliande' came from. Keep in mind, even though I'm named after a character from Greek mythology, the Arthur legends are outside of my realm of expertise. I was thinking that Broceliande was another Southern name. I'd heard of 'Jocelyn' before and 'Priscilla,' and other names like that. But some of them were so unusual. . ."

"Well. . .you know. . .here in the South, family names get used a lot, with both genders. Also, it isn't unusual to find names that come from the old countries. . . especially Ireland and Scotland. A lot of Scots, Irish, and Scots-Irish settled here, both before and after the Revolution. And I don't know if you've ever noticed, but you can hear some of that influence in our folk music. There's a song from the Revolutionary War, '_Johnny Has Gone for a Soldier_.' It's based on an old Irish song, '_Shule Aroon_.' There's another one. . ._'The Minstrel Boy_.' It's about as old as '_Shule Aroon_,' and it became popular in the War Between the States," Jocelyn replied, warming to her topic. She loved talking about North Carolina and about the South.

"I remember hearing '_The Minstrel Boy_' in _Rough Riders_," Danae admitted. Jocelyn nodded, smiling. Yes, she remembered hearing from someone that it was featured in the two-part tv-movie. She never saw it herself, but she knew it was sung in it. Danae went on, grimacing ever so slightly, "And I will admit, I cried when I heard it." Jocelyn allowed her eyebrows to shoot into her hairline. Danae Marini? The original tough girl? Admitting that she cried over a song? Maybe she should check for flying pigs! Danae all but growled at her, giving her a none-too-gentle shove, "Don't. . .say it. Don't even think it!"

Jocelyn shrugged and went on, "Anyhow. . .yeah. Of course, New Orleans is altogether different. There's the Cajun influence, of course. . .everyone knows about that. Funny thing is, I've been there, I know I have, but I can't remember it. It's one of those empty spaces in my memory, the ones I told you about. I think it was not long before the accident. The doctors told my parents that there would probably always be pieces missing of my memory. I told that to Cousin Pauline once, and she squeezed my hand, and told me, '_honey-girl, it doesn't matter. You remember me, and you remember that I love you, and that's all I'll ever ask_.' You know, no one had to call her, to tell her about the accident? She knew."

Danae shivered. . .she was never comfortable when Jocelyn talked about Pauline's unusual abilities. Come to that, Jocelyn wasn't very comfortable with Pauline's almost-preternatural knowledge. Her friend asked, "So. . .if you're of Irish and Scottish background, which I remember you telling me you are, why does your cousin have a French name?" Jocelyn nearly laughed aloud. She should have seen that coming, actually. And she would point out that her own name had a French background. However, this was a favorite family story.

"Two reasons. . .first, Cousin Pauline has Creole blood from her father's side of the family. That's one thing. The other is, you've probably noticed that aside from Annie, all of the women on my mother's side of the family have a name that starts with 'P.' My middle name is Patricia, my mother's name was Priscilla, etc," Jocelyn replied.

"I had noticed, yes," Danae answered dryly. Jocelyn elbowed her in the ribs, and got an elbow back. The scholar stuck her tongue out, and Danae fired back, "Save that for Ian, you are SO not my type!" Jocelyn couldn't help herself. . .she giggled, and her best friend continued, "Yeah, anyhow. . .yeah, I've noticed that all of the women on your mother's side of the family have a name starting with 'P,' and you were getting ready to explain that. But before you get going, I just gotta ask. . .how far does this go back?"

"Only to the War Between the States! Sheesh! Anyhow, my mother's side of the family has lived in the South, ever since they arrived in the States. They were just ordinary people trying to make a living, like most people during that time," Jocelyn answered. She almost launched into a lecture about how most Southerners who fought for the Confederacy weren't slave-owners or plantation owners, but caught herself in time. There were times when she allowed her love for history get the better of her. This was neither the time nor the place. Instead, she continued, "Anyhow, the story goes that my ancestor, Hadley MacLean, was badly wounded in battle, but the devoted care of a young nurse whose brothers were also fighting for the Confederacy saved his life."

Danae, who read almost as many romance novels as Jocelyn did, smirked a little, then scowled when Jocelyn smacked her knee, adding, "Behave and get your mind out of the gutter. Before he was sent home. . .he couldn't fight any more. . .he asked her name, and she told him that it was 'Phyllida.' He promised her that if they were both alive at the end of the war, he would take her to the nicest restaurant he knew and they would dance. About a year later, he received word that Phyllida died of pneumonia. He promised himself that he would name his first-born daughter Phyllida, in her honor, and the woman he married took it one step further. When Phyllida MacLean was a grown woman, married and pregnant with her first child, her mother told her the story, and asked that she use a name, first or middle, that started with 'P' if her baby was a daughter. Up until Annie, that tradition remained unbroken. The original plan, the name that Ian and I agreed upon for her, was 'Paige,' to keep the tradition going."

"Ouch. Well. . .you know, it's not too late. There could be more children," Danae pointed out. Jocelyn shrugged. That remained to be seen. She couldn't bring herself to think of the future, much less a future with Ian right now. But she did want to keep up the tradition. She saw no point in breaking a tradition like this one, just because it was a tradition. If not for Phyllida, that long-ago young nurse, she wouldn't exist. She knew that. And like the MacLean women who came before her, she wanted to honor such devotion and sacrifice. Jocelyn just hoped that she was capable of the same devotion as her initial namesake.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

On her sixth birthday, Annie Ramsey heard a story about her family. Her mother told her about a very special nurse, who saved the life of a soldier. That soldier, Hadley MacLean, was Annie's great-great-great grandfather, and the nurse who saved his life died when she was younger than Annie's mother. Because of that, and because she saved his life, he named his first daughter after the nurse, Phyllida. And through the years, each new generation named at least one daughter after her, if only with the letter 'P.'

For some, it was their first name. . .like her grandmother, whose first name was 'Priscilla,' or her third cousin, whose name was 'Pauline.' (Actually, Mommy always said that Pauline was really Annie's first cousin, three times removed, but it was okay just to call her Annie's third cousin. . .it was easier). For others, it was their middle name. Her mother was one of those, named 'Jocelyn Patricia,' or her great-grandmother, whose name was 'Rachel Pearl.' It was then that Annie found out that her own name was originally meant to be 'Paige Arabella.' Annie frowned. Paige was a pretty name, but. . . Her mother explained that 'Arabella' was the name of her father Ian's favorite teacher when he was in school.

Annie didn't tell her mother this, of course, but she was glad her name was 'Anne-Marie,' instead of 'Paige Arabella.' Then, even as she thought this, another idea crossed her mind, and this was voiced. She asked, "Then why is my name 'Annie,' instead of 'Paige,' Mommy?" By this time, Annie learned to read her mother's expressions, and she knew that when Mommy's eyes looked a certain way, it involved Annie's father. This was the year after Annie met her father, and Uncle Cam, and the little girl still wasn't sure if it was okay to like her father, since Mommy always looked sad when he was mentioned.

However, her mother always answered her questions honestly, and this was no different. Mommy answered, "Because when I looked at you, 'Paige Arabella' just didn't seem right. You were Annie, not Paige." That was all right, then. And when Annie asked her, since 'Paige' wasn't her name, why she told her the story, her mother responded, "Because these are our people, Annie. We came from them, and I want you to know that. I want you to remember people like Phyllida, who died of pneumonia when she was only twenty years old because she wanted to take care of others, and Hadley, never mind that he wasn't politically correct. He's ours, and don't ever forget that."

Of course, that provided more questions than answers for the curious six year old. And her mother, like always, read Annie's mind, explaining, "I know you have so many questions for me, baby. Some, I can answer. Others, I can't. Some, you'll just have to read, and make up your own mind. But that will take time, and until then, I'll answer any questions I have as best as I can." That was more than fair, and Annie saw some of the tension leave her mother's face. For a long time, the little girl didn't understand why her mother was so worried.

Annie understood some things better now. There were times when it was really hard to know what was the right thing to do. Did she ignore people who hurt her, or did she stand up to them? On the other hand, there were times when it wasn't so hard to know what to do and what not to do. Like, right now. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that the men who kidnapped her and her uncle were bad people.

For one thing, they beat up Uncle Cam. For another, they kidnapped her and Uncle Cam. And, they said nasty things about both of Annie's parents. Aunt Danae told her that in her job, she had to accumulate evidence, first to find the bad guys (she called them 'goblins' when she was really angry). . .and then to make sure the bad guys went to jail. Annie always remembered that, and she decided, based on the evidence she had, that the people who were holding them were bad guys. Maybe even goblins.

Thinking that made Annie miss her mother and aunt Danae all over again, and she was worried about her mother. Was Aunt Danae taking care of her mother, like she normally did? Annie remembered one time, when Aunt Danae took Mom to Las Vegas, while Cousin Pauline and her husband, Agent Will, came to North Carolina and looked after Annie. It was hard for the girl to relax, because she was worried about her mother. Not so much about Aunt Danae, because she was an FBI agent, and she could take care of herself. But her mother wasn't an FBI agent, she was Annie's mother, and Annie didn't know what would happen if Annie or Aunt Danae wasn't there to take care of her.

And. . .was it okay to miss her mother? Even though Uncle Cam was there, and she did love him, he wasn't her mother. Annie didn't ask Uncle Cam that, because she was afraid she would hurt his feelings. He wasn't her mother, and neither was Aunt Danae (though, she had to admit, Aunt Danae was the next best thing. . .she knew Annie better than Uncle Cam did). Annie tried not to think about it too much. She tried not to think about it, because it hurt even more when she did that.

"You know. . .it's all right if you miss your mum," Uncle Cam said softly, and Annie gave a little jump. She felt his arm tighten around her as he continued, "I wasn't much older than you are now when my mother died. I was just ten, and your da was fifteen. We were both so young. It was hard for us both, just in different ways. It was hard for me, 'cause I was ten. Still just a child. It was hard for your da, because he was fifteen, a man-child who suddenly found himself the man of the house. He changed so much that year. Ian was always a little wild, but never in a bad way. But after our parents died. . .there was a rage in him. It was never directed at me, or at Aunt Norah. But it still scared me. It still scared us."

"Can Daddy hurt people?" Annie asked. She never brought herself to ask this question before, even after her father was arrested for stealing the Declaration of Independence. Maybe it was because she didn't want to know. Still very young, it was very hard for Annie to accept that Mommy and Daddy weren't perfect. Even when Mommy ran out of patience, and even when Daddy broke the law, it was still hard. Because they were her parents, even though she barely knew Daddy. The eight year old heard her uncle sigh quietly.

"I think, Annie Laurie, that your father is capable of just about anything. He would never permanently hurt someone who hadn't hurt him, or someone he loved. Temporarily, sure. . .if it got them out of his way. But someone who threatened you, or your mother, or me? I don't think your father would have any trouble at all killing in those cases. Is he capable of killing aside from that? I don't know. You remember, I guess, hearing about the explosion of the _Charlotte_ during the Declaration trial?" Uncle Cam asked, and Annie bobbed her head.

Her uncle continued, "I don't really know what happened. Your father wouldn't let your mother or me come to his trial. But. . .from what I've heard, there was plenty of blame to go around. The most important thing for you to remember, Annie Laurie, is that your father loves you. . .he loves you so much, he gave you up. It almost destroyed him, letting you and your mother go, but he did it to protect you. That means something, angel. . .it means something special. Your father was so happy with your mother, but he gave that up to protect you, he made one helluva sacrifice. Don't ever forget that."

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

It had been just a short time since she came across Jocelyn Ramsey's file in the Legacy database, but to Alex Rayne, it seemed like an age. She remembered a time, about six months before the explosion which nearly killed Derek, when she began having doubts about the organization she devoted so much time and energy to. But even then, she never imagined anything like this. This was. . .it boggled her mind. What made it worse was it validated every criticism Rachel Corrigan ever leveled against the Legacy.

Rachel. Alex shook her head as she saved the second part of the file to a diskette. It was necessary to download the information. . .the next time she went looking for that file, she might not find it. This way, she had proof that it existed. Not that it would necessarily help with Rachel. You could provide her with all kinds of proof, and she would still tell you something didn't exist. That tendency no longer annoyed Alex. After nearly ten years, she was accustomed to it. That wasn't to say she liked it. . .just that she was used to it. Just that Alex realized there was no way Rachel would ever change.

And unfortunately, Derek wouldn't hold her accountable for the things she did and said. She could do, and say, the cruelest things imaginable, and Derek would still make excuses for her, citing her mother's death at the hands of his father, the deaths of her husband and son in 1995, the rape in Ireland, all the times Kat was placed in danger. To him, all of that was justification for Rachel's behavior. . .as if no one else before or since had problems. Rachel had been through a great deal. . .but she wasn't the only one. Derek felt so guilty about his father's sins, that where Rachel was concerned, Alex's husband was a doormat.

Funny, how her perspective changed after she married Derek, and gave birth to Kristy. Being a wife and mother forced her to look at things in a completely different manner. She became more aware of her responsibilities, and more aware of the consequences when people weren't forced to take responsibility for themselves. Rachel was a constant reminder of that. To a degree, so was Nick. . .he swung from hating his father for pitting him and his brother Jimmy against each other, and for beating up Jimmy, Nick, and their mother, to lionizing the man.

Derek once referred to Jonathan Boyle in glowing terms within her hearing, and Alex warned him, '_then be advised. If you ever strike me, or Kristy, I will take her and you will never see either of us again_.' Somehow, he forgot that his 'wonderful' friend was an abusive husband and father. And until the day she died, Alex would never forget the look on Derek's face when she said that. He immediately protested that he wasn't condoning what Jonathan Boyle did to his wife and children, to which Alex just as quickly pointed out that he also wasn't condemning the man.

Maybe she was employing a double standard. . .one for Jonathan Boyle, who was this exemplary Legacy member but an abusive husband and father, and another for Ian Howe, who was a Legacy thief and gave up the two people he loved most in the world to protect them. Who was the saint and who was the sinner? Who was the guilty party? There were shades of gray in the world, along with the black and white, but from Alex's perspective, Ian did the jobs which most Legacy members wouldn't dirty their hands with. He was honest. He didn't hide behind excuses, the way Jonathan Boyle did.

The way far too many members of the Legacy did. She shook her head as she finished saving the second part of the file onto a diskette. Once she was finished, she would upload the document to several different places, including her laptop, just in case. Derek was still playing things close to his chest, especially after learning that someone used his name to lure Jocelyn Ramsey away from her building on the day she was to have been kidnapped. It may have saved her life, but Derek wanted to know who would be able to convince Dr. Grady that it was he who requested the scholar.

The more Alex thought about it, the more likely she thought it was that it was a member of this House. She and Derek were out. . .her husband was capable of some terribly Byzantine schemes (the trap for Charles Bannion came immediately to mind), but this was crazy even for him. Nick would never pull something like that. Kristen was dead, sacrificing first her life to save Philip, then her soul to save Kat and to buy them time. That left Rachel. It was process of elimination, but Alex just couldn't see Rachel doing something like that. It wasn't her style.

Derek was running down other options. . .including the remote chance that it was a member of another House, familiar enough with the Luna Foundation in San Francisco to set such a plan into motion. Once he finished with all possibilities, he agreed that he would tell Nick and Rachel what they knew so far. Until then, if either of them discovered Alex's work, she could tell them that Ian Howe worked for the Legacy, and it was highly likely that he was seeking the Templar Treasure on their behalf.

That wasn't a confrontation Alex wanted to go through. She knew them both far too well to think they would simply accept that a) Ian was one of theirs, and b) she and Derek knew about this for a few days, and didn't tell them. She was still fuming over her last confrontation with Rachel, only that morning. The psychiatrist had, as Alex called them, one of her '_you don't know what it's like_' episodes. . .this time, after Alex expressed sympathy and compassion for Jocelyn Ramsey, noting that she couldn't blame the younger scholar for avoiding the press, Rachel flew into hysterics, exclaiming, '_You don't know what it's like to have a child missing_!'

Nick, as always, made excuses for Rachel, telling Alex that she didn't mean it, and that Rachel was just upset because Kat was so distant. Alex, however, was in no mood to put up with Nick's enabling or Rachel's attitude, and responded that she wasn't judging Jocelyn Ramsey for not wanting to talk to the press. . .and as for Rachel's charge that Alex didn't know what it was like to have a missing child, that was quite true; however, Alex did have a child, and she would kill anyone who harmed Kristy.

Odd, really. She always thought that once she had a child, she would understand Rachel better. _Once I have a child_, she would tell herself, _it'll make sense. Once I have a child, I'll be able to do more than sympathize_. She was wrong. If anything, Kristy's birth further divided the two women, and Alex wondered if it was because Rachel carried a torch for Derek. It made no sense to her. . .she had herpolice detective, David, and Rachel could never make up her mind if Derek was her father figure or if she wanted him to be her lover. It really didn't matter, in the end. But it did. Because now, she couldn't trust Rachel. Not a good place to be, when your lives were in each other's hands.

Just like she didn't trust Nick where Ian Howe and Philip were concerned. As if summoned by her thoughts, the former SEAL entered the control room, asking lightly, "Still working on that back-up?" That was all Alex told him when he last asked, back before Derek told her that Nick and Rachel should know a certain amount of what was really happening. She nodded absently, and Nick continued, "You know, you and the boss-man know what you're doing, but personally, I can't figure out why you would even need to back up a file from the Legacy database. It's not like it's gonna disappear."

Alex smirked to herself. _Yeah. Right_. A moment later, Nick said, all laughter from his voice, "Alex? Why is Derek sending out inquiries to the various Houses about Jocelyn Ramsey? What's that woman got to do with the Legacy?" Alex bristled at the comment, even as she wondered how Nick found out about the inquiries. As she turned to face her teammate, she discovered the answer to that question. . .Nick was holding in his hand a sheet of computer paper. Derek must have left it in the wastepaper basket after she printed it off from his email account. Which meant. . .which meant he probably wanted Nick to find it. _Dammit, Derek_!

However, she replied, deliberately holding her temper (for now), "We don't know, Nick. That's why we're asking. On the day her daughter was kidnapped in that home invasion, Dr. Ramsey was called away from her building by the curator of Luna South. According to Dr. Grady, Derek highly recommended Dr. Ramsey for the project, due to her paper on the missing tomb of Princess Senephra. . .but he didn't. He spoke to no one about Dr. Ramsey." Although, as Alex well knew, he was familiar with her paper about Senephra.

Nick didn't look mollified, and began muttering under his breath about the child having to pay for the sins of the mother and the father. All the progress he made in the year before Derek blew up the House was lost over the last few months. He was behaving as he did when he first joined the House, and while that behavior was understandable in a twenty-four year old, it was just childish coming from a thirty-four year old. Alex felt her temper fraying, but went on calmly, "Derek is trying to find out who made that call, since it seems likely it drew her away for a purpose. . .maybe even avoiding capture herself."

"Well, maybe if she didn't sleep with Ian Howe, none of this would have ever happened! I don't get you, Alex. . .you constantly take up for that guy! Is it because he's Philip's cousin?" Nick sneered. _Okay. . .that. . .did. . . it_! Alex was on her feet and across the room in a heartbeat, slapping Nick hard across the face. The snap of flesh against flesh resonated through the room, and Nick stared at her in shock. Good. Maybe he would shut his mouth and listen for once, instead of making assumptions he had no business making!

"Then I guess that means, if Kristy is ever kidnapped, you won't help to track her down, because obviously she was taken due to something Derek or I did!" Alex growled at him. He started to answer, his eyes widening in shock at the accusation, but she wasn't finished. The researcher continued, making no secret of her contempt, "It_ is_ the same thing! Where's the Nick Boyle who was the first one in a fight to defend a young mother and a young child? Or is that only reserved for Rachel and Kat?"

Alex was one of the most easy-going members of the House, like Philip, so when either of them lost their respective tempers, it was akin to a bomb going off. Nick was absolutely shell-shocked that his sweet-tempered Alex would speak to him this way. She didn't know why. It wasn't like she didn't do it before. And she would do it again! Alex went on, "It _is_ the same thing, because Jocelyn Ramsey and her little girl didn't do anything wrong. It _is_ the same thing, because that entire family might still be in danger. And it _is_ the same thing, because Ian Howe is one of us, and there's a better than even chance that he was working of behalf of the Legacy to find the Templar Treasure!"

With each bombshell, she watched a little morecolor drain from Nick's face, until he was ashen. He dropped into a chair, the email falling from his hand at the same time. Alex took a deep breath, feeling a bit like a bitch for going off on Nick like this. But dammit, she put up with this crap from him from the moment the news broke about the Templar Treasure, and Kat let it slip that Ian Howe was Philip's cousin. Nick finally rasped out, "Ian Howe. . .is a member of the Legacy? That can't be right, Alex. . .he couldn't have. . .the Legacy would have never countenanced the theft of the Declaration of Independence!"

"Oh, no? How many times did you and Derek circumvent the laws of a country while you were on a dig? Hmmm? Derek destroyed the canisters for the scrolls in Boston, to find the truth about Mordecai Church . . . after Philip snuck him into the archives, against the rules. I could give you chapter, line and verse, Nick, but you know damn well that the Legacy will ignore any rule, any law, any oath it finds inconvenient. . .and if the Declaration of Independence was the only way to locate the Templar Treasure, then so be it. The difference between you and Derek, and Ian, was he faced the consequences of his actions. Derek came home to San Francisco, and left Philip alone to face whatever punishment meted out for Derek's crimes. _And so did you_!" Alex fired back.

Nick, obviously, was on the verge of repeating himself, and saying that it wasn't the same thing, until Alex reminded him of what Philip went through after that case was resolved. And she wasn't finished. She continued bitterly, "As if it wasn't enough that Kristen died in his arms, died saving his life. . .oh, no, that wasn't nearly enough. His good friend Derek returned to San Francisco, leaving Philip alone with the consequences. So don't you dare tell me that the Legacy doesn't do things like that. I know better! Now, Ian Howe's little girl is in the hands of who knows who. . .and this same mysterious group tried to kidnap his former lover. As if that's bad enough, there's more!"

"And we did not tell you, Nick, because we knew you would react like this. I am sorry, Alex, I did not mean for him to find it while it was only you," Derek said quietly, entering the control room with Kristy in his arms. Alex nodded numbly, taking her little girl from her husband. She sat down at her console, holding Kristy as tightly as she could. The baby, for her part, seemed to understand that her mother was upset, and patted her cheeks reassuringly. Derek continued, "As Alex told you, there is more. . .but we still do not know the full story. And until we do know more, that is all we can tell you."

"In other words, business as usual around here, only this time, you dragged Alex into it. All right. . .start at the beginning, and tell me everything. Including how long Ian Howe has been a member of the Legacy, who recruited him, and who came up with the idea that the Legacy even needed to get its hands on the Templar Treasure," Nick said wearily. Derek nodded to her, and Alex shifted Kristy in her arms, then tapped a few keys. . .the keys which would bring up what they knew so far, courtesy of Claire Spencer in Hong Kong. Nick stared at the information on the screen and muttered a few choice phrases he picked up in the SEALS. Alex had to smile. Yeah. That pretty much summed it up.


	16. A DoubleEdged Sword

Yes, I'm back. . .the muses have been rather sluggish lately. However, I finally caught a break (two of them, if you count the modem crashing last Saturday evening). Here, then, is the next chapter. . .with a revelation I wasn't planning on making for a few chapters. (glares at the muses) Also, I've changed my mind, with regard to a certain confrontation. But that will wait until a later chapter. Hope you enjoy this one!

Chapter Fifteen

The Double-Edged Sword

Tanner Masters wasn't entirely sure what to think when Danae and Jocelyn disappeared into the bathroom after the revelations about Ian's past work with the Lumen Corporation/Luna Foundation/whatever. Although he couldn't help but remember Fonzie drawing Richie into the men's room, inviting him into his 'office,' on the old show _Happy Days_. The corners of his mouth twitched, though just barely. There was a lot of work to be done, though most of it could wait until the following day. It was nearly five pm now, and he was certain he wasn't the only one who was getting hungry. Ian had to be starving. . .he never ate lunch, and Jocelyn probably hadn't eaten, either. Maybe neither of them felt like eating, but it was still necessary. Tiny went to prison in the first place to protect Ian, and he was still doing that job.

He learned from various sources that the Gates family offered their help in finding Annie. Well, well, wasn't _that_ magnanimous of them? Tiny couldn't help the slight sneer that curled his lips. When Will brought him into this, one of the first things he did was give Tiny the entire Declaration file. Now, there was another factor. . .the likelihood that Ian was trying to attain the Templar Treasure for this Luna Foundation/Lumen Corporation. It would have surprised him not at all to find that Jocelyn and Danae were thinking along the same lines. In any event, Tiny thought he had the perfect task for Ben and Abigail Gates. He would suggest to Jocelyn that she let them handle the press. God knew they had enough practice over the last eighteen months. And Jocelyn could focus her attention on other, more important things.

Besides, as Tiny and the rest of their town learned more than a decade earlier, keeping Jocelyn away from the press was a very **good** thing. People tended to forget that his former classmate had something of a temper, and one reporter managed to get past her protective defenses in the last week before she left for England. Tiny grinned somewhat viciously, remembering the verbal smackdown in question. Oooh, he was so proud of her for that! So was most of the town, for that matter. Stupid reporter, sticking a mic in a grieving daughter's face and asking her how she felt about reports that her parents provoked the fatal attack. _Gee, dumbass. . .let's see what you think when it's **your **parents_, he thought.

Oh yeah. Let Mr. and Dr. Gates deal with the press. It was one less thing to bother Jocelyn. She was worried about her little girl, worried about Cam, and even though she might not admit it, she was worried about Ian as well. At that, Tiny shook his head in exasperation. Honestly, those two dingbats gave him _such_ a headache! If their daughter wasn't missing, he would have locked the two of them in a room and told them not to come out until they dealt with it. 'It,' of course,' being the way they still felt about each other. Danae saw it. . .now Tiny was seeing it, too. They were still in love with each other. The trick, of course, was getting them to admit it. Especially Jocelyn, though Ian was stubborn, too.

And just where did Cam fit in all of this? Hell if he could figure it out. He was Ian's kid brother, Annie's uncle. . .but what did he mean, if anything, to Jocelyn? Tiny's instinct was that they were friends, being nudged toward something more when all this happened. Tiny knew Jocelyn too well to think that she was consciously using Cam. If she was using him at all, it was unintentional. And it was less a matter of 'using' to make someone else jealous and more a matter of 'using' to avoid being alone. Tiny had been alone before. It wasn't easy, finding a woman who could handle a man nearly seven feet tall. Yeah, he survived being alone, but he wasn't raising a child by himself, either. And even without the complication of a child, it was still damn lonely. Sure, Jocelyn had Danae, but Danae had her own place. . .her own life. She couldn't provide constant companionship.

Again, that was making the assumption that Jocelyn was using Cam at all. Tiny didn't know enough about the situation there to say one way or the other. Right now, he supposed, it really didn't matter. So. Figure out what is known. Fact: Ben and Abigail Gates offered their aid in finding Annie (most likely at the instigation of Dr. Chase-Gates). Fact: Ben Gates also stole the Declaration of Independence, supposedly to protect it from Ian. However, what wasn't known was why he wanted the Templar Treasure, aside from to prove it existed. Ian, on the other hand. . .if he was tracking down that Treasure for the Luna Foundation, there was a specific reason they wanted it. Perhaps the artefacts inside posed a danger of some kind to the public at large. Or, at least, they thought said artefacts were dangerous.

Fact: The chairman of the Luna Foundation in San Francisco, Dr. Derek Rayne, allegedly contacted the curator of a museum in North Carolina, and mentioned Jocelyn's name in conjunction with the exhibit. That contact led to Jocelyn being away from the office when the bungling kidnappers tried to abduct her as well. Coincidence? Well, anything was possible, but Tiny doubted it. The Luna Foundation, and Derek Rayne, kept coming up. Tiny had two theories about Rayne and his involvement. A) he was the one who enlisted Ian's aid in the treasure hunt in the first place and when Jocelyn seemed to be dragged into it, he took steps to protect her or b) he found out after the fact, and tried to protect her by suggesting her.

Fact: Ian was still desperately in love with Jocelyn. Tiny saw it every time Ian looked at his former lover. He saw it in Ian's eyes, in the way he smiled when he noticed Jocelyn doing something familiar. He loved her. He never stopped loving her. And call Tiny an incurable romantic, but he believed in giving people a second chance. And here, the next fact came into play namely: Jocelyn still loved Ian. Never stopped. Tiny didn't doubt that she was furious with his high-handedness and dirty tricks. But she loved him, and. . .

Tiny paused and sniffed at the air. Something was different. . .something was wrong. But what? As the door to the bathroom opened, and the two girls emerged, the answer burst into his head. Even before the first knock echoed through the room, Tiny was out of his seat and gathering up the bags. Danae opened her mouth, probably to ask him why, but he said tersely, "No time for questions. Get your bags. . .we're getting the hell out of here." Ian was now awake, looking at them all, somewhat bemused. The knock came again, and Danae went to open the door leading to the hall. Tiny added with grim amusement, "That would be hotel management, warning us that there's a gas leak and we have to get out of here!"

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

As the old saying went, out of the frying pan, and into the fire. Whoever came up with that particular saying must have been in a situation similar to this one. Similar. . . not exact. She really didn't think they had situations like this, centuries ago. Then again, you just never knew. Even as he stated, "That would be hotel management, warning us that there's a gas leak and we have to get out of here," Tanner was already in motion. For such a big man, he moved awfully fast. . .and Jocelyn's mind was still on the conversation she had with Danae in the bathroom. By the time her mind caught up with what was happening, Danae had the door open and there was, indeed, a member of the hotel staff explaining that the hotel was being evacuated as a precaution, and it might not be a bad idea to take their luggage with them.

Fortunately, none of them had much of that. . .Ian just had his duffel bag, and she had no idea what Tiny had. Danae was quickly gathering up her bags, as well as Jocelyn's, which left the scholar with only one task. Getting Ian upright and moving. He was sitting up, looking wide awake once more, and was swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Jocelyn went to help him. . .his injuries from the beating would make moving difficult. And up until that moment, she never allowed herself to think about the beating, and everything that went with it. In truth, Jocelyn wasn't sure what rattled her more. . . her dream about Ian being hurt or the way she felt when Danae told her about the beating.

Lately, it seemed like she was either angry or terrified. It was no different now. As she carefully put her arm around Ian's waist to stabilize him, a familiar rage swept over Jocelyn. But she couldn't let herself get caught right now. She needed to stay calm. Besides, if she acknowledged to herself just how angry she became when she thought about Ian being hurt, she'd have to face a few other things. . .and she wasn't ready for that. She wasn't ready for any of it. So. Stay focused on the situation, on the problem, at hand. Danae and Tanner had the bags well in hand, so Jocelyn's only responsibility right at this moment was Ian. She couldn't do anything for Annie, but she could do something for Annie's father.

Slowly, oh so slowly, they made their way out of the room, the four of them. With each step, Jocelyn felt Ian straighten a little more. It confused her at first, since Ian really wasn't strong enough to try to walk alone. Then she remembered. . .then she understood. Ian was trying to take back control. He was. . .he felt awkward around her. And that discovery, in turn, made her feel awkward. But she didn't release him. . .not until they came upon a young couple with three small children. The mother and father were trying to carry all of the luggage, while the oldest. . .a boy of about ten. . .was carrying the youngest, a baby who looked to be about eighteen months old. Struggling along was a five year old girl, who was trying desperately to hold onto Mommy's wrist, since Mommy's hand was currently occupied.

Ian carefully disengaged himself from Jocelyn's grip, and said to the little girl (and her mother), "C'mon, sweetheart. . .ma'am, I can carry your little girl." The young mother favored him with a frazzled smile and nodded to her daughter. Under ordinary circumstances, there was no way Jocelyn would have allowed a stranger to carry her child. . .however, in this case, she knew she would have done the same thing. The little girl (who, now that she thought about it, looked a bit like Annie) smiled shyly up at him, and Ian scooped her into his arms, murmuring, "I can't take care of my little girl, so I'll take care of you instead."

Well, she did look a bit like Annie, and she was around the same age Annie was the first and only time Ian saw her. It stood to reason. Besides, Ian always was a sucker for little kids. It was one of many things which made her fall in love with him. Since the little boy was struggling manfully to keep up with his parents, Jocelyn smiled at him and plucked his baby sister from his arms, then held out her hand to him. He smiled back at her and took her hand bravely. Poor kid. They were probably tourists. What a thing to happen in a strange city. While she wasn't as familiar with Washington DC as her best friend was, this wasn't Jocelyn's first time in the capital.

Her theory was proved a moment later, when the young mother of the three said with an accent Jocelyn couldn't identify, "Thank you so much, sir. . .thank you both!" Jocelyn just smiled, one mother to another, and motioned for the other young woman to go ahead of her. She wanted to stay with Ian, to make sure he didn't overextend himself. It wasn't that hard. . .he was still injured, and carrying a small child. The little girl lay her head on his shoulder, trusting Ian completely, and her mother added, "Be a good girl, Jael!"

Jael. That was a pretty name. Ian and Jocelyn exchanged a glance and a smile, and for a moment. . .for a single, magical moment, things were back to normal between them. As if the last several years never happened, and they followed through with their original plans to get married. And then, Jocelyn remembered that the child in Ian's arms wasn't her daughter. . .wasn't _their_ daughter, and she saw the same recollection dawn in Ian's eyes. He smiled at her very sadly as they reached the stairs designated as the evacuation route. According to what the porter told them, the stairs were being utilized to avoid overcrowding in the elevators (which could only take a certain amount of people at one time anyhow). But as they entered the stairwell, Jocelyn began to wonder if that wasn't a mistake. The smell, which was barely noticeable in the room, was far much more obvious in the staircase. Jael buried her face against Ian's shirt, and Jocelyn whispered, "Hold your breath if you can."

"That's the idea," came the response as Ian tightened his arms around Jael. They were several yards behind Danae and Tanner, which Jocelyn found rather strange, since the other two were carrying the bags. Ian continued after a moment, "Go ahead and catch up with them. I need to stay back here with Jael's parents." _Oh. . .no. Nope. Not gonna happen_. Ian glared at her, keeping his voice low as he accused, "You think I'll run at the first opportunity." Jocelyn glared right back at him, since she never even thought about him trying to slip out of their custody until now. Maybe one of these days, he'd learn to keep his mouth shut. _Yeah. Right_.

"No, you idjit. . .you're still recovering from being beaten up," she retorted in a voice just as low, "and in case you hadn't noticed, I'm carrying one child and holding the hand of the other!" Ian had noticed, but evidently, his hurt pride overrode his good sense. He looked away guiltily, and Jocelyn muttered under her breath. Not for long, because the little girl she was carrying was starting to cry. The gas leak was becoming steadily more obvious. On the stairs below them, too, Jocelyn could hear other evacuees coughing. _Not good. Not good at all_. Jocelyn told the little boy at her side, "Pull your shirt up, honey. . .it'll filter out some of the bad smell if you cover your face with cloth."

"Yes, miss, I know," the boy answered. He knew? Never mind. She would worry about that later. Instead, she carefully tucked the baby's face against her shoulder, making sure the little girl could still breathe. The air was getting worse instead of better as they went down the stairs, which explained why she heard so much coughing only seconds earlier. As they reached the landing for the third floor, the smell became even worse and Jocelyn nearly doubled over, coughing. Ian, however, was faring worse. A quick sidelong glance told her that his eyes were watering, just as hers were, and his body shook with the coughs he was suppressing. It was anyone's guess which was harder on his broken ribs. . .coughing or trying not to cough. They would be out of this soon. It seemed like an eternity, but. . .

"Only two more floors to go," Jocelyn whispered, not that anyone heard her. Taking the stairs now seemed like a very bad idea to her. There were so many people in a small area, and Jocelyn wondered why they weren't evacuated to the parking garage. Unless that was too dangerous? The little boy's hand tightened in her own, and she squeezed his small fingers gently in answer. And then, her heart stopped briefly. . .he released her hand. But it was only briefly, because he put his arms around her waist, burying his face against her hip. Jocelyn put her free arm around his shoulders protectively. Second floor landing. They were getting there. She wondered where Danae and Tanner were, and if they were all right. She hoped so. Despite the gas, people were remaining calm. For the moment.

How had this happened? Was it an accident? She allowed herself to think about that for the first time. Only one more floor to go. How had this happened? The way things had been going lately, between the attack on Ian, Annie and Cam being kidnapped, and the news that she was also the target of another kidnapping, Jocelyn wasn't inclined to believe it was an accident. Maybe it was somewhat arrogant. The world didn't revolve around her, after all. And why attack all these people, just to get at her and Ian? That made about as much sense as. . .well, as thinking that someone deliberately sabotaged the fair ride, twenty years earlier. . .the accident that nearly killed her was just that. An accident.

And yet. . .and yet. . .and yet. . . Jocelyn was distracted once more. Freedom. The final door, the one that led out of the staircase and into the hotel lobby, the one that ultimately led to fresh air. She held both children a little tighter, brushing her arm against Ian's to keep him moving forward. He could no longer suppress his coughs, and she was afraid he wouldn't make it. It never occurred to her to question how she knew Ian was there. She just knew. _Just a little further now. Just a little further_. The little boy's arms tightened around her waist again. It would be over soon. Despite her vision, blurred by tears, she saw people at the open door to the lobby. They wore gas mask. . .and they were leading the first evacuees out. One of the EMT's swung Jocelyn's small companion into his arms, while the other one took Jocelyn's free arm.

The walk from the stairway to the front doors seemed to take forever, but there was someone waiting to lead them out. Her vision was growing more and more blurry. . . it was necessary for her now to rely on her hearing and her sense of touch. The EMT carrying the little boy was just a few steps ahead of her, and the child was passed into the waiting arms of another, then the man headed back. Jocelyn faltered, no longer able to fight the dizziness. Just a little further now. . .just a little further. But where was Ian? He was here, at her side only a moment ago! The baby was taken from her arms at the lobby doors and someone picked Jocelyn up. She heard a voice at her elbow saying, "Get these two out of here. . .I'm going back for her husband. He was carrying a little girl." Jocelyn wondered a bit fuzzily if the father of the three children had fallen behind. Then she was in the cool night air, and someone else was saying, "Breathe, honey. Just breathe. You're gonna be fine." Jocelyn focused on this new voice. It was a man. But before she could think beyond that, she heard another voice, one much more familiar.

"I can get her. . .c'mon, Jocelyn, Danae is waiting for us," Tanner Masters told her, his voice gruff with concern and something else. She was transferred to him, his arms tightening around her protectively. She tried to tell him that Ian. . .that she couldn't find Ian, but her voice wasn't working properly. Tanner added softly, "And they'll be bringing Ian along shortly, shortstuff. Just relax. . .just relax." _Relax_? She didn't know if she could. But she did close her eyes. . .and it became far easier to do as she was told after that. If Tanner said Ian was coming, then he was. Tanner went to jail to protect Ian. He wouldn't lie to her.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

Patrick Gates was cooing over his baby granddaughter when the telephone rang. He left Abigail alone to think, after he got off the phone with Carolan earlier. He needed to do some thinking as well. They discussed him telling Abigail about Carolan and Jade's past. She really wasn't happy with him, but he could live with that. What worried him was Carolan's desire to get involved with the search for Annie Ramsey. Unlike most of the newscasters, who called her 'Annie Howe,' Carolan actually used the name on the child's birth certificate.

To her, it was a simple gesture of respect. Strange, but that was Carolan. Then again, he was forced to admit, she was as different from Lily. . .and from Patrick. . .as anyone could imagine. Up until she was twenty-six, the most unusual thing about her was her name. . .and having a little sister several years younger didn't count. Nor did the fact that she was both second mother and older sister to Jade. The younger sister, as a late-in-life baby, was an incredible blessing for their parents. Carolan could have been jealous of her baby sister. . .could have hated her for the six months that followed her birth, six months when neither Carolan, nor her father, were certain the girls' mother would live. It was a difficult pregnancy. . .and an even more difficult delivery. Even in this day and age, childbirth was still dangerous to women.

Those six months set the stage for the next eleven years. Carolan was utterly devoted to her little sister. Jade, like Carolan herself, inherited her dark hair and dark eyes from their mother's side of the family, who came from Southern Italy. Both had olive complexions, but the Italian ancestry was just a little more obvious in Jade. When she talked about her little sister as a young child, there was both love and sorrow in her eyes. Love for her little sister, for the child she was, for the joy she brought to the entire family. And sorrow for the horror visited upon that innocent child. The year Jade turned eleven, everything changed for their family. And they were just now crawling out of the hole they were pushed into.

The entire family. . .they would never be the same again, thanks to that miserable bastard. He could well understand Carolan's assertion that she had seen. . .and been touched, for that matter. . .with true evil. The phone rang, startling Patrick out of his dark thoughts. He shook himself, looking at his granddaughter to make sure it didn't wake her. But Betsy was sound asleep. Before the phone could ring a second time, and wake her, he answered it in a soft voice, "Gates residence, this is Patrick Henry Gates." It was a practice he started not long after they found the Templar Treasure. . .distinguish between the two Mr. Gates.

He wasn't expecting to hear Carolan's voice, rough with obvious coughing, tell him urgently, "Patrick, it's me! Our hotel has been evacuated, someone tried to gas us all! Can you come and pick us up?" Gas? The hotel where Carolan and Jade were staying. Patrick shook his head, trying desperately to clear it. That didn't make any sense! Why would someone do that? The possibilities flitted through his head, but he really didn't think that was Al-Qaeda's style, unless it was to set up another massacre. Another burst of coughing. . .two sets, rather. . .reminded Patrick that his lady needed him. His lady, and her little sister. And if he was wrong, then they were both still in terrible danger. He didn't think he was wrong, but he wasn't willing to bet Carolan or Jade's lives on that possibility.

"I'm on my way, sweetheart. . .where are you, outside?" Patrick asked urgently as he rose to his feet, looking around the room. It took him a moment or so to remember that his keys were downstairs. Then downstairs was where he would go. Patrick bent down and gently brushed his lips across Betsy's tiny forehead, murmuring, '_I love you, angel_.' With one last look at his granddaughter, Patrick slipped out of the room to head downstairs. He wondered briefly where Ben, Abigail, and Riley were, then shook his head. It really didn't matter. He continued, "Carolan, tell me where to find you, baby, tell me where to look."

"We're outside, Patrick. . .when the porters came to the room, they suggested that we take our luggage. We're outside, across the street from the hotel. I'm okay. . .we're both okay. They. . ." Another cough interrupted Carolan, and Patrick realized with a start that he was now on the first floor. He didn't even remember descending the stairs. After a moment, she continued hoarsely, "We're okay, they've got a perimeter set up. Just in case anyone wants to try something funny. But it's cold and. . ." Now Patrick heard gagging, and his own gag reflex reacted. He heard Carolan soothing someone, then she almost sobbed into the phone, "Please, Patrick, just. . .just come get us. The night air, combined with the gas, is making Jade sick."

"I'm on my way, sweetheart. . .I'll be there just as soon as I can. I love you," Patrick promised. He hung up and removed his wallet from his back-pocket, ending the call at the same time. Ah, thank God. . .there it was, right on top. Carolan's card. She wrote the hotel name on the back of it before she left to pick up Jade. He tucked the card back into his wallet, and put it back in his pocket, then began to search for his car keys. A door opened and closed, and Patrick could hear hurried footsteps. But he paid no attention to them. He had about thirty minutes to drive, depending on traffic, and Patrick wished he had a chopper at his disposal. However, he _really _didn't think Sadusky would loan one to him for this purpose.

"Dad, are you going out? There's been. . .an evacuation of some kind, a hotel in the city," Abigail asked breathlessly, Ben only steps behind her. Patrick looked up at his son and daughter-in-law, and Abigail turned pale. She whispered, "Oh, no. . .it's the one Carolan's staying at?" Patrick could only nod, and his daughter-in-law's mouth thinned. A very familiar look appeared, and before Patrick or his son could say anything, the blonde historian said in what Riley often called her 'Mommy' voice, "We're coming with you. We can take the chopper, it'll be quicker."

_Chopper_? Ben added, "Abigail's right, Dad. . .remember, we bought a helicopter, when we realized it would be quicker than flying commercial? Especially for short distances?" Patrick nodded numbly, and Ben went on, "Listen, sweetheart. . .take Dad on upstairs, to the launching pad. I'll let Riley know where we're going, and ask him to look after Betsy for us. Dad. . .Dad, look at me." Patrick looked at his son, and Ben said softly, "Carolan's gonna be just fine. Both her and Jade, they've been through way too much for something like this to defeat them. Now go on, go with Abigail." The young woman took his arm and let him back up the stairs. Patrick was still thinking about his son's comment about Carolan and Jade, and smiled in spite of himself. Ben didn't know the half of it.

On the way up the stairs, Abigail said softly, "We saw the report on the evacuation, on television. They're saying it's an accident. I hope that's true." So did Patrick. She went on, "I can't believe you forgot about the helicopter. I could have sworn that we not only told you about it, but about the flying lessons I've been taking." Flying lessons? Patrick looked at her, momentarily distracted from his worry for Carolan and Jade, and Abigail added with a rueful grin, "After everything we went through during the hunt for the treasure. . .and going through childbirth, it's hard to be afraid of anything. When Ben first came up with the idea of buying a helicopter, I decided that I wanted to learn how to fly." Put like that, she had a very good point, and Patrick could only stare at her, incredibly proud of her. Abigail blushed, ducking her head.

Not for the first time, he reflected that Lily would have loved this young woman. She made Ben happy. . .and she was damn brave. But for the first time, he told his daughter-in-law, observing, "You know, I really wish you could have met my wife, Ben's mother. She would have adored you. Lily would have loved you, just for making Ben happy. But she always admired courage, and that's one thing you've got in spades. Just like she did." And just like Carolan did. He always thought that his wife and his new lady were so different. But in that, they were very much alike. Not many men were as fortunate as he and his son were, to know so many brave women. They would add two more before the night was over.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

Not that far from the hotel from which his cousin and hundreds of other people were evacuated, Philip Callaghan had worries of his own. With the call from Jocelyn Ramsey, he realized that she at least suspected that the Legacy was involved in the Declaration heist. Maybe not the specifics, but she was becoming suspicious of certain facts. This was both a good and bad thing. It was Philip's position from the beginning that Jocelyn should know the entire truth. . .that was the good part, from his point of view. What was bad was, the potential for distracting her. He understood, far better than most people, why Ian wanted his former girlfriend to remain focused on Annie. Like Ian, Philip understood that if Jocelyn became distracted, she would struggle with her guilt. Especially if something happened to Annie. There were times when knowledge really was a double-edged sword.

He wondered if it would be a good idea to warn Derek and the others about the latest revelations, including the fact that Jocelyn Ramsey was starting to see the outlines of the truth. Derek would tell him that '_faith has need of the whole truth_,' and while Philip still thought it a ridiculous thing to say, the priest did think the information might be useful for his old friends in the Legacy. Even if Derek wasn't the one who originally recruited Ian into the Legacy, the chances were better than even that he knew about it by now. Assuming, of course, that he didn't know about it earlier. And with Derek Rayne, that was one chance Philip just wasn't willing to take. Too many times, Derek kept something vital from his team. Too many times, that lack of information nearly got someone killed. Yes, faith had need of the whole truth. . .but his team certainly didn't!

And in this game, Philip's ultimate loyalty wasn't to the Legacy, it was to his family. Every time he looked at his slightly older cousin, Philip was reminded of why he made the choices he did as a priest. He told Nick, shortly before Kristen was killed, that he was still interested in saving the world. . .he was just doing it, one soul at a time. His own strength lay in taking care of other people. Not in shooting or staking things. So far as Philip was concerned, his was the preventative medicine, to lessen the battles the Legacy had to fight.

While Philip tended to his parish, there was (he hoped) one less adolescent dabbling in things beyond his or her comprehension, one less devastated husband or wife, mother or father, who couldn't let go. Or something as simple as one less teenager who fell in with a bad crowd and threw away his or her future. Perhaps if a caring priest or minister was paying attention to Ian, all those years ago after Uncle Joseph and Aunt Linda were killed, his cousin would have found it easier to walk the straight and narrow path. No. . .no, Philip didn't hold himself responsible for the mistakes his cousin made. . .but he did wish someone was there for him.

Derek and Nick would never understand that. . .and he came to terms with that years earlier. So why was he thinking about telling the Legacy about the steps Jocelyn Ramsey was making toward finding out the rest of the truth? The simplest answer was, he wasn't Derek Rayne, and if the San Francisco House having this knowledge averted a tragedy down the pike, then that was exactly what he would do. While knowledge was a double-edged sword, Philip knew that holding back his knowledge was far more likely to cause a tragedy than to avert it. Besides, if he told San Francisco House what he knew, there was a better than even chance that Alex would try to return the favor in some way. Whether it was information or. . .something else.

The priest was on the verge of making the call when he turned on the television. . .and was confronted with images that stunned him. A building, being evacuated. He knew that building! It was the hotel where Ian, Jocelyn, and Danae were staying! Philip sat down on the bed, watching in silent horror as the news crews covered the breaking story. The hotel was being evacuated, due to a gas leak. From his years of traveling with the Church and with the Legacy, he knew the fumigation of the hotel, to expel the smell of the gas, would take some time. The Legacy forgotten for now, Philip picked up the phone and dialed the front desk, asking them to call a cab for him. When the young lady at the front desk asked where he would be going (apparently, it made a difference in which company they called), Philip explained that his cousin was at the hotel being evacuated and he needed to make sure he was all right. The young lady in question had no idea whom Philip's cousin was. . .she agreed immediately to make the call. Philip thanked her, grabbed his cell phone and his room key, then made his way downstairs.

Perhaps Philip was in the Legacy too long, but he found the evacuation of the hotel where Ian, Jocelyn, and Danae were lodged extremely. . .strange. While he believed there were coincidences in this world, those coincidences usually didn't involve members of the Legacy. Especially not when the child of a Legacy member had already been abducted. No. No, this was quite deliberate. It was also quite sloppy. He wasn't speaking as the cousin of a thief here. . .rather, that was drawn from the interaction he had with convicts. He was sometimes asked to administer Last Rites to prisoners on Death Row. . .it was considered stupid and sloppy to attack an entire building to get one or two people. You ran the risk of harming someone with influential ties.

Was it possible this was an accident? Of course. He just didn't think it especially likely. And as he reached the lobby, to find the taxi waiting for him, Philip's cell phone rang. A quick glance at the incoming number told him that it was Kat Corrigan on the other end of the line. He answered immediately, "Kat, I'm on m' way out. What's goin' on?" He knew Kat. . .knew that she would only call him for a specific reason, after only talking to him a few hours earlier. He also knew that with her Sight, listening to whatever the girl had to say was necessary.

"Philip, I had a. . .I Saw something. Someone has hurt, or will hurt, your cousin. I Saw him on his hands and knees, coughing and gagging. Annie's mother, Dr. Ramsey, was beside him, and so was another lady. This. . .whatever happened, it was deliberate. I Saw a hand, a man's hand, I think. . .it was turning a valve," Kat replied tersely. Philip wasn't offended or taken aback by her narrative. It was something she developed over the years, when she was trying to get her mother or Derek to listen to her. Usually her mother. . .Rachel never accepted Katherine's Sight. It was unlikely that she ever would.

"I know, I'm on m' way out. Someone. . .there was a gas leak in Ian's hotel. I'm on m' way there. I had a feelin' it was deliberate. Katherine, do you know what kind of gas was released int' th' hotel?" Philip questioned as he got into the taxi cab. As his young friend answered in the negative, the priest told his cab driver where they were going, then added, "My cousin and his fiancée are stayin' in that hotel. I need t' make sure they're all right, and see if there are casualties." He still hadn't taken off his Roman collar. Much as he hated to admit it, Nick was right about the collar. The driver nodded and they were off.

"You know how I said earlier that I had other obligations here, Pip?" Kat asked. The question threw Philip for a loop, then he remembered their previous conversation. Before he had a chance to answer in the affirmative, the girl was continuing, "Well, that kinda fell through. I'll be coming to Washington DC this weekend. Don't worry about me having a place to stay. The precept of Baltimore House has a home in DC, and she told me that I could always stay there. I've already talked to her, and explained why I want to use her place. . .she said that was fine. When I get my travel plans firmed up, I'll send them to you by email."

There were times when he could talk Kat out of something. This, however, would not be one of them. Philip replied, "Then we'll be glad t' have ya. We've almost reached th' hotel, Katherine. . .I have t' make sure. . .I'll call ya later, all right?" He didn't know whom he could trust here in DC. Too many people knew that Ian was involved in the Declaration heist. It wasn't a matter of being ashamed of his cousin. . . but Philip was a practical man, and he knew he had to be careful, if he wanted the help of people in this town over the next few weeks.

"Please do, Pip. . .and be careful. I love you," Kat said, then hung up before he could answer. Maybe it was just as well. He glanced at the meter and fished the required money out of his wallet, figuring in some extra money. Given that he asked the driver to take him to what amounted to a disaster area, in DC rush hour traffic, the man deserved a little something extra. He just hoped that it would be enough. With the money problem taken care of, Philip set his mind to the next issue. . .namely, how he would find his cousin, or Jocelyn, or even Danae in the mess of people. He shook his head in silent dismay as people were led or carried out of the hotel by EMT's.

"Should I stick around, Father? I don't think they'll be letting people go back in, and I got no problem with waiting," the driver said. Philip hesitated, then the cabbie added, "Listen, I'll give you the exact number of my company, my name, and my car number. I see what you mean about me waiting. . .there's a lot of people, and not a whole bunch of parking. If you need a ride back to the hotel, give me a call. . .I'll come back and take all of you."

Philip nodded, stunned by this generosity. As the cabbie wrote down his information, he explained, "I'm not a Catholic, Father, but the Catholics have always been good to me. You just look after your cousin. . .he's the one who really needs you now." He handed Philip the information, adding, "Remember. . .ask for Sam." With that, and a wave, the driver backed up and headed off, leaving Philip staring after him in shock. He looked down at the address, then tucked carefully into his jacket pocket.

Sam was right about one thing. . .at the moment, Ian needed Philip. At first, he despaired of finding his cousin in this mess of humanity. . .until he saw a tall, exotic raven-haired beauty. His heart rate picked up, and Philip called out urgently, "Danae! Agent Danae Marini!" The woman's head snapped around, and Philip almost fainted from sheer relief when he saw her face. As he hoped, it was, indeed, Jocelyn Ramsey's best friend. The agent's face lit up with a smile that was devastating to any man, even a priest. Or maybe, especially to a priest. But as the pair met, it was only relief that Philip felt. He whispered, "Thank God I found ya. . .where are Ian and Jocelyn?"

"Thank Him for me, too, will you. . .I left Tiny with Ian and Josie, once we found Ian," the agent replied as she slipped her hand around his forearm. Tiny? Danae added, smacking her forehead with her free hand, "That's right, I forgot. . .you didn't know about that. Tiny, Ian's cellmate? His real name is Tanner Masters, and he's an FBI agent from the New Orleans field office. He was undercover at the prison, to protect Ian." _What_! Danae grinned, saying, "Yeah, I know exactly how you feel. Anyhow, Tiny's with them both now. Ian and Josie were behind us, helping a couple with their three kids. Thanks to his injuries, Ian fell victim to the gas a lot sooner than anyone else."

Which explained that part of Kat's vision. Danae continued, "The family they were helping have stayed with them. There are a nine year old son, a five year old daughter, and an eighteen month old girl. . .never mind, I'll just take you to them !" That _would_ be appreciated!

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

On the other side of the country, a storm was getting ready to break over the San Francisco Legacy House. With the recent revelation that Ian Howe was a member of the Legacy, Derek Rayne decided it was time that the rest of the team, including Rachel, was told the entire story. His wife could have happily lived without that. . .she really wasn't looking forward to the required Rachel Corrigan histrionics. However, she wasn't the precept and she wasn't the one who had to make that decision. No. . .she was just the one who had to live with it. One of the ones, at least. After settling Kristy down for her nap, Alex reluctantly joined her husband and Nick in the control room.

She found Rachel there as well, and offered the other woman a half smile. Rachel grinned and greeted her, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind one ear, "Hey, Alex. . .I got here as soon as I could. I don't know what's so important. . .not another case, I hope. Derek said something about Ian Howe. . .the way he's acting, you'd think that Howe was a member of the Legacy!" The psychiatrist clearly meant it as a joke. Alex had no intention of explaining to her what was going on. She just shrugged and took her customary seat at her terminal. Rachel went on, telling Nick, "That's ludicrous, of course. . .if the Legacy would recruit anyone, it would be Ben Gates." Alex merely shook her head as she logged herself into her computer.

There was a time when Rachel's casual dismissal of the Legacy made Alex angry. . .she just didn't have the energy to be angry or even annoyed with the blonde psychiatrist. It was just the way Rachel was, and getting angry or disgusted about it was a waste of time. Rachel was Rachel, and Derek couldn't forgive his father for accidentally killing Rachel's mother, nor could he forgive himself for what his father did. As the years passed and she grew to understand Rachel's patterns better, Alex was forced to conclude that the older woman was one of those unfortunate souls who pursued a career in psychiatry to solve her own problems. Unfortunate for herself, and for the people who came to her for help. Unfortunate, too, for her daughter Katherine, who was driven away by her mother as she approached adulthood.

Fortunately, once she was seated, Derek began, "Thank you for coming so quickly, Rachel. Nick has been made aware of some developments in the Ramsey kidnapping case, developments you should know as well." Alex ruefully admitted that this was one time she wished Derek would follow his usual pattern of not telling them everything. Especially when she saw Rachel's lips tighten, ever so slightly, at the mention of Jocelyn and Annie Ramsey. However, Rachel kept silent. . .though that might have been also because of Nick's calming hand on her shoulder.

Derek must have noticed as well, for he went on, "Alex, are you ready?" As she nodded, she double-clicked on the picture of Ian Howe in the Legacy database at the same time. It was a somewhat recent picture. . .taken only weeks before the Templar Treasure was found. Alex shook her head in disbelief. . .it never failed to amaze her, even now, that this man and Philip were cousins. Aside from their frame. . .both were relatively tall men, and wiry. Philip preferred the term athletic. . .as he pointed out to her, certain of his tasks as a parish priest required physical strength. Body types aside, they were as alike as night and day. . .Philip had dark brown hair and blue-gray eyes, while Ian Howe had sun streaked blond hair and green eyes.

However, she kept those observations to herself. Derek began, "I'll recap, because new evidence has come to light about not only the kidnapping of Anne-Marie Ramsey, but also regarding the Declaration heist of almost two years ago. This information puts everything that follows into perspective. First, we have Ian Howe, born Ian Thomas McDowell in 1962, in England. . .one brother, Cameron. His parents were both members of the working class. . .killed in an industrial accident when Ian was fifteen. Always a bit wild, the boy spun out of control after the losses of his parents. By the time he was twenty-two years old, he had been arrested many times." Surprise, surprise. . .Rachel had an answer for that. But then again, since when didn't she?

"It's a pity about his parents, Derek, but surely you're not condoning what he did! He's nothing more than a terrorist!" Rachel exclaimed, and looked for support from Nick. However, for once, the former SEAL just looked away. Despite her earlier annoyance with him, Alex did feel badly for Nick. . .he was torn between his natural loyalty to Rachel and the knowledge he now had about the Templar Treasure. Not that it made much of a difference. Rachel continued impatiently, "Oh, come on! I realize all of you love Philip, but that's no excuse for defending what that man did!" Alex could feel her hackles rising, but fought back her anger. Rachel, as usual, was speaking and doing before she thought things through.

She actually did mean well (as Nick told Kristen, many years earlier), but for some reason, it never occurred to her that if Ben Gates found the Templar Treasure, he must have had custody of the Declaration of Independence at some point. Maybe Alex couldn't blame her, as it never occurred to her either. . .but she was rather preoccupied with Kristy at the time. Besides, it wasn't as if Rachel had all the facts at her disposal. Up until very recently, none of them knew the full story. On the other hand, Alex was forced to admit, that never stopped Rachel before. She often jumped to conclusions (usually the wrong one) and almost never apologized. Alex could only remember one such apology. . .and she shared in it.

"He is far more than simply Philip's cousin, Rachel," Derek replied quietly, his hazel eyes pinning Rachel to her seat, "he is also a member of the Legacy. An auxiliary member. . . someone who works behind the scenes. But one of us, nonetheless." Alex had the pleasure of seeing Rachel's mouth fall open in shock. She looked quickly at Nick, who nodded in acknowledgment. Rachel's brown eyes burned with a familiar anger, and she was on the verge of one of her '_blame Derek_' rants. Alex could see the signs, after ten years of knowing the psychiatrist, but this time, Alex's husband wasn't biting. _Yea for Derek_!

Instead, he went on, "I only found out about it yesterday. I needed to wait for confirmation from Claire Spencer, who drew him into the search for the Templar Treasure. . . and a few other items. This is what I have learned. Ian was recruited into the Legacy back in the early 1980's, when he was in his early twenties. While we still don't know the exact reason for his recruitment, we do know that Sir Edmund Tremain quickly began utilizing this young man's gifts as a thief. Over the next decade, he planned and carried out countless 'operations of questionable legality,' as he calls them, for the Legacy. However, that changed in the early 1990's, when he met a twenty year old American graduate student, Jocelyn Ramsey."

Alex hit a few keys and a picture of the young scholar appeared on the screen, alongside the picture of her former lover. At first glance, she was hardly the type to draw the attention of a man who was, in the words of a contemporary of Lord Byron, 'mad, bad, and dangerous to know.' Pretty enough, but hardly the type of girl you would expect to see on the arm of a man like Ian Howe. Derek took a deep breath and explained, "Jocelyn Ramsey was in danger of spinning out of control herself when Ian came to her rescue, in a dangerous part of London. Her parents had just been murdered, and to make matters worse, the killers were made into folk heroes by the media. She escaped to England, as much for the sake of her own sanity as to study history. The young lady was quite close to her parents. . .understandably so. After she nearly died at the age of eleven, it was her parents who pulled her through the aftermath."

He made eye contact with Alex, who took a deep breath. This part of the explanation was her responsibility, and Alex had no intention of blowing it. She turned to face her other two teammates and told them, "One thing we've learned, since we discovered that Ian Howe is, in fact, one of ours. . .the accident that nearly killed Jocelyn Ramsey more than twenty years ago was no accident. It was actually deliberate. Not on the part of the operators of the ride, but research has turned up that the ride was sabotaged." Alex had the immense pleasure of seeing even Nick blanch with shock. Oh yes. . .things were about to get interesting! She was right, of course. But it was still nice to have predictions like this come true.

Both Nick and Rachel were staring at Alex in shock, with the bombshell regarding the attempted murder of Jocelyn Ramsey. Finally, Nick choked out, "Do we know why the ride was sabotaged?" Alex shook her head. She wasn't actually lying. They had no idea why someone deliberately tried to kill an eleven year old child. The information she found was very clear. The saboteur chose that specific time to carry out the murderous plans. Celinda Monroe was just unlucky enough to be in the same car as Jocelyn Ramsey. Too bad for her. But for her, and for Jocelyn, Alex wanted payback. She wouldn't be the only one. Nick asked next, anger burning in his eyes, "What about Howe? Does he know that someone tried to kill her?"

"No," Derek answered definitively. The other two looked surprised, though Alex had a feeling she knew what her husband was about to say. Derek proved her right (again) when he added with a semi-feral smile, "If Ian knew the truth, that person would now be dead. Ian is ferociously protective of Jocelyn. . .he always has been. My guess is, he knows now that on the same day his daughter and brother were kidnapped, an attempt was made to abduct Jocelyn as well. If that's the case, he also knows that a call from a Luna Foundation museum is also what prevented that abduction. He will believe that we are somehow involved. . .and we are. Which is why once the Cruz investigation is wrapped up, I want all of our resources diverted to this."

"But how does Jocelyn Ramsey's brush with death as a child has a bearing on this situation. It's tragic, of course. . .any time a child dies, or comes close to dying, it's tragic. . .but in the end, what bearing does it have on Ian Howe's crimes?" Rachel asked, adding, "And whether he was a member of the Legacy or not, he still committed crimes." She was actually thinking like a professional, for once, but Alex knew better than to think that would last. Especially if she found out that Kat offered her help to Philip (or so Alex learned from Kat herself). Rachel was already angry that her daughter was speaking to Philip, but not to her. . .this wouldn't help matters.

"Ian Howe was pursing the Templar Treasure, because the Legacy hierarchy wanted him to do so," Derek replied. Much to Alex's surprise, Nick actually remained quiet. Though Rachel looked at him expectantly, Nick merely listened in silence. He was, no doubt, remembering the times he and Derek pulled off 'operations of questionable legality.' And Alex's husband was saying, "Up until three years ago, Ian had nearly no contact with the Legacy in a long time. I seriously doubt that he agreed to take the assignment simply because of the challenge it offered." Rachel blinked and shook her head, as if trying to understand what that meant. Derek added, "I believe that factored into it, yes. But a man such as Ian Howe. . ." Alex shook her head at him a little, and her beloved fell silent, frowning. _Trust me, darlin,'_ she thought. _Just trust me._ And by falling silent, Derek did just that.

"What Derek is trying to say is, we think something else was offered to Ian as payment for his aid in recovering the Templar Treasure. He's still in love with Jocelyn Ramsey. It may be that Claire Spencer offered protection for her and their daughter. . . or, it could be that Ian was told that Jocelyn's brush with death was no accident, and he was offered the opportunity to deal with her would-be killer, in exchange for finding the Templar Treasure. We don't know, and in all honesty, Ian has no reason to trust us," Alex explained. Derek sent a mock-glare in her direction, but she just winked at him.

"Does Philip know about any of this?" Nick asked. Alex and Derek shook their respective heads, and the former SEAL asked, "Why not?" A familiar, mulish expression appeared on Nick's face, and he continued, "Or is this more of the '_faith has need of the whole truth, but my team doesn't_' meme?" Alex closed her eyes when she saw her husband's wounded expression. Still, that whole matter was a cause for tension in this House for many years. It was just now that the pot was boiling over, so to speak.

"Not in the least. We haven't told Philip because he hasn't made contact with us. Remember, Nick. . .so far as Philip believes, we have never forgiven him for Kristen's death. So far as he knows, you despise him for his loyalty to his cousin. He'll be in no hurry to contact us, not unless he thinks it's necessary to save his cousin. And if Ian has told Philip that he was involved in the Treasure hunt because of us, he'll be even less likely to ask our help," Derek pointed out, the hurt turning his voice to steel. Alex opened her eyes, just in time to see Nick flinch at the reminder of his most recent mistreatment of Philip.

"All right," Nick said in a much softer voice, "I take your point. This House, with a few exceptions, hasn't done much to deserve Philip's trust. We're both equally guilty, Derek. But right now, Philip needs us. Even if he doesn't realize it, he needs us if he wants to look after his cousin and his family. I. . ." He was stopped short when the computer began beeping. Not a word was said, but each member of the Legacy took a computer. Alex, however, was already locating the source of the alarm. . .for that was what the beeping was. She set the computer to notify her when news came up that was centered in Washington DC.

With just a few keystrokes, she had the stream up on the main screen, and sat back in astonishment as the local anchors reported that there was a gas leak at one of the newer hotels in Washington DC. But that wasn't what made Alex's breath catch in her throat. No. . .no, it was the sight of her dear friend, Philip Callaghan, standing in front of a blond man who was hunched over. Philip wasn't alone. . .there was a woman on either side of the man. One of those women was Dr. Jocelyn Ramsey, the other, Alex didn't recognize. However, she did recognize Philip's body language. . .he was protecting his cousin. And that was when she turned her attention to the other member of this strange little confrontation.

"My God. . .that's Ben Gates!" Rachel blurted out. Alex nodded. He wasn't alone. His father was supporting an attractive, dark-haired woman in her late thirties or early forties, while Abigail Gates had her arm around another dark-haired woman, who was about her own age. Where Philip's posture was protective, defensive even, Gates was more conciliatory, his hands raised, palms up. Alex wished they had sound. . .that would have been _quite_ entertaining!


	17. You Did What?

Author's Note: After a VERY long hiatus, I finally have something to share! My apologies for the long delay. . .between other stories demanding to be told, my previous job, to say nothing of family drama up the wazoozoo, it's been a long time. This is also a much shorter chapter than normal, but given how long everyone had already waited, this would at least let everyone know where I was going with this. My position was terminated two months ago, so I have more time to write (when I'm not looking for another job). My current plan is, after I post this, write another short chapter and put the two together, because I'm not sure how long it's going to take for inspiration to strike on this again. I know where I want to go with this, I know how I want to end it. . .it's just a matter of getting there. So, I hope you enjoy this (abbreviated and long-overdue) chapter.

Chapter Sixteen

'You Did What?"

To say that the impending confrontation between the dark-haired priest standing protectively between Ian Howe and his own son was interesting was something of a misnomer for Patrick Gates. He, Ben, and Abigail reached the site of the evacuation only a short time earlier, finding Carolan and Jade almost instantly. Carolan was on her knees beside her younger sister, both women shivering in the night air. When she saw Patrick, Carolan immediately threw herself into his arms, while Abigail tended to Jade, gently arranging a blanket around the younger woman's shoulders. Through chattering teeth, Carolan explained that the building was mostly evacuated, but available police officers and firefighters were going back inside to help the last guests. Apparently, there was a police detective and a federal agent in the group next to theirs.

What none of them realized immediately was that Ian Howe was part of the group in question, along with a young couple with small children. And really, Patrick wasn't paying attention. . .he was too concerned with making sure Carolan and Jade were safe. At least, that was the case until he heard a thick Irish brogue, raised in anger. At which point, Patrick noticed a very tired, very pale Ian Howe on the ground, with the aforementioned dark-haired priest standing in front of him protectively, and Patrick's own son looking around that priest. Ben was saying reassuringly, "I'm not here to hurt anyone, Father. . .we're just here for my father's fiancée and her kid sister."

Ben's hands were in front of his body, palms up, in the classical surrender/peaceful intentions gesture. A slight brunette whom Patrick recognized from newscasts as Jocelyn Ramsey appeared beside the priest (almost literally tripping over her own feet) and put her hand on his forearm, saying, "It's okay, Philip. I don't know who this guy is, but even if he means to hurt Ian, we're here to protect him." It was likely that her vision was affected by whatever gas was released in the hotel, if she didn't recognize Ben, especially since she had met with him and Abigail within the last few days.

"Dr. Ramsey! Are you all right?" Patrick's daughter-in-law asked from her position beside Jade. The girl whispered that she was fine, that there were others who needed their assistance, and Abigail rose to her feet, approaching the blinking young woman. She took both of Dr. Ramsey's hands, murmuring, "It's Abigail Chase Gates, Dr. Ramsey. . .are you all right?" The suspicious way the priest named 'Philip' was eyeing first Ben, and then Abigail, made Patrick wonder just how much he knew about the Declaration heist. . .to say nothing of what his connection to Ian Howe was.

"Dr. Gates. . .ooh. . .sorry, I'm having a hard time focusing right now," Dr. Ramsey said, and closed her eyes tightly. After a moment, she blinked again, managed a weak smile, adding, "Aside from that, I'm all right. I think Ian's in worse shape than any of us. . .his lungs were already weakened by the beating he took in prison." Again, she listed slightly to one side, belying her statement that she was fine. Father Philip put a steadying hand on her shoulder, and she muttered, "Okay, got up too fast, I don't do that again. So was that your husband whom Philip was confronting? Oh, I'm sorry. . .Philip, this is Abigail Chase Gates and her husband Ben. Doctor and Mister Gates. . .this is Father Philip Callaghan, Ian's cousin from Ireland."

Well, that explained that. There was no physical resemblance between the pair, but that was beside the point. And what was this about a beating in the prison? Before Patrick had the opportunity to ask any of his questions, a second female approached with an extremely large man. She was several inches taller than Jocelyn Ramsey, with shoulder-length black hair. Her eyes narrowed when she noticed Ben and Abigail, but resolutely turned her back on them. Instead, she fussed at Dr. Ramsey, "Josie! What are you doing up? You were barely conscious when you got out of there. Sit down, before you fall down again! Philip, what's going on?"

The priest's eyes darted to Dr. Ramsey and Patrick saw understanding dawn in the newcomer's eyes. Something they knew, but Jocelyn Ramsey didn't. Oh, this just kept getting better and better. The tall brunette cringed, ever so slightly, but said, "Never mind, I suppose it's not that important. Listen, Tiny and I need to talk to the fire marshal and the agent in charge, let them know where we'll be staying. Do you think there will be enough room in your hotel for all of us to stay together? 'Cause I'm not letting Josie out of my sight, and I know for a fact that Josie isn't letting Ian out of her sight."

And that was when Abigail blew everyone's minds by suggesting outright, "Why don't you come stay with us? We certainly have the room and it'll make it easier for us to pool our resources to find Annie and Cameron." Ben's jaw dropped, Patrick's own eyes widened. . .and that was just their family. A quick glance told him that the Howe contingent was reacting more or less the same way. The tall brunette now hovering protectively over Jocelyn Ramsey went absolutely wop-jawed. . .the priest was frowning thoughtfully. . .while Ian Howe and his former lover were staring at each other as if to say, 'am I hearing things or did she really say that?'

Ben finally picked his jaw up off the ground, his expression changing from stunned to thoughtful. Dr. Ramsey said hoarsely, "It does make sense, Danae. If Ian is okay with it, and I think we both agree he's the one with the most to lose, then I'm okay with it, too." Of course, she had no more finished speaking when she started coughing. Patrick winced. Poor kid, it sounded like she was about to cough up a lung. Ian Howe looked at her anxiously, but when he reached out to stabilize her, pain flashed across his face, and his arm strapped across his waist. Patrick watched the pair with interest. He wondered if he was the only one who could tell these two were still in love with each other.

Regardless, it took more than a few minutes for him to answer in a voice that was even more hoarse than his former lover's, "I don't care. If it means finding Annie, I just don't care." He listed slightly to one side, leaning into the woman at his side. She put a protective arm around him, smiling ever so faintly as his head settled on her shoulder, and glanced between the woman named 'Danae' and the giant erroneously called 'Tiny.' Patrick remembered now whom 'Danae' was. . .Agent Danae Marini, Jocelyn Ramsey's best friend. Which left the question of whom Tiny was.

"Well, if you lot are okay with it, I'll let the police and fire marshal know where we'll be. I doubt if we can tell them anything we don't already know. Father Philip, if you can give your card to me, I'll give you a call once we get to the Gates palace. And don't worry, Padre, I'll take good care of him. You have my word on it," the giant said. Howe raised his head from Dr. Ramsey's shoulder and glowered at him. Patrick barely bit back a grin. While he initially thought his daughter-in-law's offer was impulsive, it looked like things would be entertaining. Especially once Riley knew about it. . .

"Thank you, Agent Masters. Ian. . .do as you're told. Get some rest, let Jos take care of you. Jos, take care of him, and let Danae take care of you," Father Philip instructed his cousin. Again, Patrick had to bite back a smile as the priest lectured his cousin on his proper care. Oh yes. Things would be most interesting. But before they could do anything else, he had to get Carolan and Jade home and safe. That had to be his priority.

NTNTNTNTNTNTNTNT

"YOU DID WHAT?"

Abigail winced as the voice of her husband's best friend was heard clearly through the helicopter, and glanced into the back, where her father-in-law comforted both Carolan and Jade. This was why she wanted them to wait until they got back to the house before they told Riley about their new guests. Ben just looked sheepish and Abigail rolled her eyes. She was on the point of telling Riley that they would talk about it when they got home, but one of their guests had other ideas.

"Will someone _please_ tell that brat to put a cork in it? I'm beginning to wish Ian Howe had cut his tongue out," Jade growled. Her sister stifled a laugh in Patrick's shoulder, and there was a moment of shocked silence coming from Riley. Jade grumbled something under her breath about stupid treasure hunters, and she'd like to see how he handled feeling as if he'd breathed in mustard gas. Abigail wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know how Jade knew about breathing in mustard gas. Given what Patrick had told her about Jade's past, and her past traumas. . .no.

In any event, Ben used the moment of silence to break in, saying, "I admit, I had my doubts about it at first, but think about it. We can keep an eye on Ian, while we're helping him finding his daughter." That provoked a rather nasty expletive from Jade. Abigail blinked in astonishment, not just at the vitriol emerging from the young woman, but the snicker she heard from the girl's older sister. Patrick said something too low for Abigail to understand.

Which probably meant it was none of her business. She told Riley, "What's done is done, Riley. We'll be back at the house in about ten minutes with Carolan and Jade. Father Callaghan, Ian's cousin, will be arriving in about forty-five minutes in a taxi with Ian and Jocelyn. Agents Masters and Marini will be following about twenty minutes later, after they finish at the scene. Make sure Betsy's still asleep, because so help me God, Riley, if you've woken up my baby girl up with your shrieking, I will shove my foot up your rear end!"

"And I'll help her," Jade grumbled. A quick glance over her shoulder told her that Patrick was looking at the girl ruefully. Abigail remembered that Patrick hadn't wanted to put Jade and Riley together in the same room. . .preferably not in the same building, even. She was beginning to see why. At least, why it would be a bad idea, though not necessarily why Jade felt the way she did. More to the point, Abigail was afraid of what Jade would say if she asked why.

Unfortunately, Riley did it for her, asking almost plaintively, "Is there a reason why Patrick's girlfriend's sister doesn't like me? I mean, I can understand why you would say that, Abigail, Betsy is your little girl, but Carolan's sister. . .I don't think she likes me very much," Ben face-palmed. . .actually face-palmed. Abigail looked over her shoulder, meaning to say something to Jade about keeping her distance from Riley once they landed, but Patrick rolled his eyes, Jade was grumbling under her breath, and Carolan was. . .giggling?

"Riley, just. . .don't wake Betsy, all right? Now, we'll be home in about ten minutes. Check on the baby, and if she's sleeping soundly, meet us on the roof," Ben said. He turned off the radio and muttered under his breath, "Next time, I let you fly." Yes, and why didn't Ben let her fly this time on the way back? She raised her eyebrows at her husband, and he glanced at her out of the corner of her eye, replying to her silent question, "You were busy looking after Jade and Carolan, remember?"

Actually. . . However, before Abigail could respond in kind, her father-in-law said, "That's enough, children. Ben, make sure we don't crash. Abigail, stop distracting him. I believe we have other plans to make. I've been talking to Carolan, and she's admitted that she's not ready to go home. Nor is Jade. There are currently four in the Howe party: Ian himself, his former fiancée, her best friend, and Agent Masters. I suggest that we put them in the wing that Carolan and Jade use when they stay with us."

Ben was silent as he thought about the logistics. It was on the second floor, almost directly under the helicopter pad. It was the wing opposite of where Ben and the rest of their family slept, and as Abigail had seen at the evacuation site, now only was Ian badly hurt, but he was still recovering from the effects of that gas, whatever it was. Ben said finally, "I think that's our best plan. All right, then we'll put them in Carolan and Jade's wing, let them figure out the room assignments." He paused as their home came in sight, and added, almost under his breath, "Though it wouldn't surprise me, no matter how they choose to room."

"You noticed that, too. . .that Ian's still in love with Jocelyn?" Abigail asked, and heard an answering confirmation from her father-in-law. Ben nodded, focusing more on the landing than on the conversation. But he noticed as well, the way the pair curled together on the ground, each seeking to protect the other. Abigail couldn't say for sure, but she had a feeling that Jocelyn was still in love with Ian, and there was just enough of the romantic in her to want to help that reconciliation along.

"Noticed. Don't think we should do anything about it. In the first place, it's up to them. In the second place, I don't think either of them would welcome our interference. And in the third place, I think that best friend of Dr. Ramsey's would have a few things to say to us if we did get involved. . .none of them pleasant," Ben replied as he eased the chopper to the ground. The switches were turned off, and he turned to them, saying, "Agent Marini doesn't trust us to help with the search for Annie. . .so I really don't think she would appreciate our involving, even if it is to effect a reconciliation between them."

"Besides, it's none of your business," Jade sniped. Ben leveled a glare at her, but Jade was either too tired to put up her customary front, or feeling too miserable, for she snapped, "Oh, don't even try that on me! You're my future brother-in-law's son, but that's all you are to me. You should have thought to muzzle that annoying twit before he tried to tell the world that your little quest was a matter of good versus evil. I spent the last hour and a half with Ian Howe, Mr. Gates. I know what evil is, and he ain't it."

Ben started to speak, but Carolan said tiredly, "Jade, dial it down. It's been a long day for all of us. And Mr. Gates, there's a difference between being bad and being evil. Something your young partner doesn't seem to comprehend. Now, can we _please_ stop talking about this subject, and get inside? Like I said, it's been a long day. . .I'm cold, I'm tired, and my head still feels fuzzy." Abigail was amused to see that both Jade and Ben backed down. She glanced back to Patrick, who dropped a sly wink, and Abigail bit back a smile of her own.

"And there's Riley now, so Jade, please behave," Abigail observed after taking a quick peek outside the cockpit. She briefly wondered what she was thinking, inviting Ian Howe and his merry band here. . .but after only a moment, she stiffened in her seat. She had done this because it was the right thing to do. Regardless of what Riley, or even Ben, thought, this was the right thing to do, and she wasn't about to regret it.


	18. The Man Behind the Curtain

Author's Note: Contrary to popular belief, this story has not been abandoned. . .I've just been sucked into another fandom, kicking and screaming all the way (Captain Jack Harkness has that effect, it would seem). It's another abbreviated update, but I felt it was better than nothing, and I think this will move the story along faster. So, without further ado. . .here we have chapter seventeen.

Chapter Seventeen

The Man Behind the Curtain

Her head was starting to clear, which was a good thing. Ian was slumped against her, his head resting against her shoulder and his breath soft on her skin. Which was. . .well, not a bad thing, but certainly not a good thing for her resolution to stay focused on her child. Unfortunately (or fortunately, as the case may be), she was tired, her head ached, and all she wanted to do was curl up beside Ian and sleep. Maybe it was just as well that Ian's cousin was in the taxi with them. . .and that he was a priest. She was just tired enough and just sick enough not to care about whatever came next.

"I do hope that nice Israeli couple has no trouble finding my hotel," that priest said now, and Jocelyn barely raised her head to look at him inquiringly. Philip smiled at her apologetically, and explained, "The young couple whose children you helped to evacuate from the hotel. . .they're from Israel, and they'll be staying at my hotel." Israeli. Oh. Okay. Jocelyn closed her eyes and allowed her cheek to settle against Ian's hair once more. Philip added gently, "Just relax now, we'll be at the house fairly soon, and you and Ian can rest properly. Have you decided about room arrangements yet?"

"Danae and I are sharing a room, as are Ian and Tiny. Figured it was safest, since Tiny was assigned to protect Ian before this part of the drama got started," Jocelyn said, keeping her eyes closed. She found, over the last few minutes, that she had to alternate between keeping her eyes closed and open. If she kept them closed too long, she started getting dizzy. If she kept them open too long, the headlights from the other cars started hurting her head. _S'pose it's too much to ask for it to be one or the other, instead a' both_, she thought sluggishly. As it was, it was reminding her of one of her migraines.

"Probably for the best. I have a feelin' that you and Ian in th' same room would make your hosts nervous. . .even more nervous than you and Danae in th' same room," Philip observed dryly, and Jocelyn couldn't help her smile. Yeah, she and Danae had that effect on people, and Shaw always used to tell her that the same was true of her and Ian. She ignored the now-familiar ache when she thought of her late friend, instead focusing on Ben Gates' wariness of her best friend. Was so strange. . .almost as if she knew something that he didn't want to be told.

"With Riley, that wouldn't take much," Ian mumbled. She would have to take his word for it, as she hadn't met Ben Gates' sidekick, as of yet. Jocelyn didn't remember verbalizing that, but she must have, as Ian told her, "Count yourself fortunate, Jos. He is three times more annoying than Nathaniel ever dreamed of being." Jocelyn cringed, remembering an associate of Ian's whom she avoided like the plague, because he was so dad-blasted annoying. She had assistance from the others, once they realized he annoyed her, but ever so often, he would slip through the cracks. Ew. She shuddered.

"That wasn't very nice, Ian. . .now she'll be reactin' t' this boy as if he was Nathaniel," Philip reprimanded gently. Ian said something that she couldn't understand, but Philip evidently could. He growled something back. Since Philip was normally such a gentle person, and that growl didn't sound particularly friendly, she could only guess that Ian's initial comment was equally unfriendly. Jocelyn sighed, having the distinct impression that she was currently in between two overgrown children. . .and playing referee for these two was at the bottom of her to-do list right now.

"Behave, you two. . .don't make me separate you," Jocelyn sighed wearily. She felt like she was mediating for the boys again, only this time she didn't have Derek to back her up. Or even worse, no Danae. A faint smile touched her mouth, as she thought about her best friend. Yes, Danae could help her keep these two in line. Naturally, under normal circumstances, she could handle them both. Right now, however? Uh. . .no. However, for the first time that night, she actually caught a break. . .they pulled up in front of the Gates. . .manor? Holy moly. . .wow!

"Is that. . .?" Jos began, staring in shock. Holy freaking hell. She saw some gorgeous houses down in North Carolina, especially when she took the train from Raleigh or Cary to DC for a conference. But that was. . .wow. Just. . .wow. Philip cast a grin at her, and for a few, lovely minutes, her head cleared enough for her to appreciate the Gates' home. She couldn't shake the feeling that they were holding something back from her, and that Danae knew about it, but as long as it didn't have something to do with Annie's kidnapping, it could wait. But once Annie was home, there _would _be a reckoning.

The taxi made its way up the long driveway, the driver murmuring to Philip in an undertone. He really was a nice man. . . Philip, that is, although the taxi driver was nice, too. Didn't freak her out like that one guy in Vegas who kept flirting with her rather heavy-handedly, when she and one of her few high school friends, Nicole, went to the Western adult playground right after graduating from high school. That guy was just. . .creepy.

Then they were under the portcullis, and Abigail Chase Gates was beaming at her, saying, "Welcome to our home! Father Callaghan, do you need any help with getting Ian inside? Riley will take care of the luggage, and I'll help Dr. Ramsey." Jos started to say that she would be fine to get herself inside, but a wave of dizziness swamped over her and she shut her eyes firmly. No. . .no, she'd accept that help. It was preferable to finding herself doing a face plant. Oh yeah. She opened her eyes, accepted Abigail's cool hand and allowed herself to lean against the blonde woman, who whispered, "I'll get you upstairs to your room, then let you rest. Who is rooming with you?"

"Danae, when she gets here. Not sure how much longer I'll be coherent, but I wanted to say thank you for this, Dr. Gates," Jos replied. The other woman gave her a brief, one-armed hug and Jos looked over her shoulder as Philip eased Ian from the car. Her former lover gave her a weak smile, which worried her, but right now, her head was hurting so badly, she couldn't focus on that. A dark-haired young man brushed past them (maybe the annoying Riley?), but Jos ignored him. She had to put one foot in front of the other.

NTNTNTNTNT

Riley didn't look happy about being volunteered, but he annoyed her so badly during the return to the house, she really didn't care. Carolan and Jade were tucked into bed, and Patrick remained in his own room. Right now, the sisters needed each other more than anything else. Ben was with Betsy. . .he did that every time they encountered Jocelyn Ramsey, as if he needed a reminder that their little girl really was all right. Abigail could relate. After she got Jocelyn settled and checked on Ian, she'd peek in on her daughter as well. And then she'd let Ben handle Danae and Agent Masters. Why yes, as a matter of fact, that was revenge for telling Riley about their unexpected guests while they were in the air. Ben should be grateful that was all she was doing.

She guided the exhausted and still somewhat sick Jocelyn to the bedroom she would inhabit during the search for her daughter. The other young woman collapsed gratefully onto the bed, rubbing her forehead wearily. Abigail said not a word as she knelt in front of Jocelyn and eased her shoes off. Jocelyn looked up, startled, but was evidently too tired to protest. Abigail offered her a small smile as she helped the brunette undress. Before their guests arrived, Abigail put a nightgown out, since Jocelyn's belongings were liable to smell to high heaven. It was that nightgown that she now eased over Jocelyn's pale, slight, shivering body, before helping her under the covers. Abigail allowed herself to lightly caress the dark hair, before slipping out of the room. Danae would be arriving in a few short minutes.

She poked her head into her daughter's nursery, to find her husband sitting in the rocking chair, cradling Betsy against his chest protectively. Ben's eyes were closed, and Abigail smiled softly, blowing a kiss to the two most important people in her life. She closed the door lightly behind her, and then headed downstairs to meet the two FBI agents. Riley shot her a dirty look as he lugged Jocelyn's case toward the laundry room, but she simply stared him down, especially after she noticed Father Callaghan carrying Ian's bag. Riley wasn't doing this on his own, so he had no business complaining. Oh wait. It was connected to Ian, so of course Riley was complaining. She still hadn't truly forgiven Riley for calling the worried mother of a missing child, 'Lady Macbeth.'

As Father Callaghan passed her, he said softly, "Ian's asleep in his room. . .don't think he'll stir again until sometime tomorrow afternoon. Jos is the same?" Abigail nodded and the priest murmured, "Good. I wanted t' let you know on what's truly happenin' wi' regards t' Tiny Masters. He's an FBI agent who was assigned t' protect Ian in prison." Assigned to protect Ian? Philip said softly, "There's far more to the search for the Templar Treasure that you realize, Dr. Gates, far more than anyone realizes. Ian knows most of the full truth, but for her own safety, Jocelyn cannot know. Not yet. She cannot afford any distractions from Annie, for her own safety and for her own sanity."

Abigail's blood ran cold and she asked softly, "Can you tell me what this something more is, Father Callaghan?" The priest glanced over his shoulder, biting down on his lower lip, and Abigail put her hand on his arm. He was obviously worried about being overheard, though she didn't know why he was worried. It didn't matter, the why of it, but she wanted him to feel more comfortable about telling her. She murmured, "Come with me to the laundry room, I don't think this conversation should be held out in the open." He inclined his head in agreement, and Abigail found herself on the receiving end of yet another Riley-glare. However, she wasn't concerned with him right now.

Once they were inside the laundry room and the bags were deposited in a nice, neat row (Philip's doing, more than likely), the priest said softly, "I'm limited in what I can tell you. And this part, Jocelyn does know. . .not about your part, though. However, there was a reason the Templar Treasure remained hidden for so long, and it wasn't simply because no one put t'gether the clues before then or ran out of patience. Those artifacts were never meant t' be found, Dr. Gates, because they are dangerous. Think about it. . .they were sealed underground for several hundred years. Think of the bacteria. . .think of the people who died after openin' the tomb of King Tut back in th' nineteen twenties. Ian's job was t' protect th' treasure from bein' found and protect th' general public."

"Everyone involved was very careful when the items were removed," Abigail said softly, her mind whirling as she struggled to process this new information. Philip's mouth quirked a little, and Abigail realized what he wasn't saying. She murmured, "But that was after the vault was open, and we were exposed to whatever bacteria or contagion when we first opened the vault, thus exposing others. My God. And Ian was being protected in prison because he failed?" Philip shook his head, carefully looking past her, evidently to make sure they weren't being watched.

"Yes, but not from our employers. . .from other people. It's a long story. Everyone has little pieces of the story, Dr. Gates. Not even Ian has the full story, though he has more pieces than nearly anyone else. The point I'm trying to make, Dr. Gates, is that you and your husband only know part of the story. I'm not tryin' to make my cousin int' some kind of hero or victim. But there is far more to the Templar Treasure than you realize and it is far more dangerous than you can imagine," Father Callaghan said softly.

Abigail swallowed hard, wondering what exactly she had stepped into, with her impulsive invitation to the Howe group. And then she realized she was part of this long before tonight. . .that she was involved with something that was put into motion a very long time ago. For the first time, she began to appreciate just how big this was. She whispered, "This is far beyond my family and even Jocelyn's, isn't it? Far beyond anything that I could have imagined. There's a part of me that wants to know why your employers think they have the right to keep the Templar Treasure away from people, but a larger part knows the reason and fears it."

"Technically speakin,' I no longer work for them, but I still have ties to th' group. There is far more t' heaven and earth, Dr. Gates," the priest observed quietly and Abigail felt chills run down her spine. Father Callaghan said gently, "I've frightened you, and it wasn't m' intention. I just wanted you t' be aware that there is far more t' this situation than you understand. And you have nothin' t' fear from our group. . .unless, of course, Riley decides t' start annoyin' m' cousin, which is entirely possible." Abigail laughed at that, as she was meant to.

"Thank you, Father Callaghan. And you didn't frighten me, but. . .all right, I'm a terrible liar. I am frightened. But what frightens me is that I've been part of this all along, and never knew it," Abigail admitted. The priest offered her a sympathetic smile and she sighed, "We should head back to the front door. Agent Marini will probably here in the next few minutes with Agent Masters, and I need to show Agent Marini to the room she's sharing with Dr. Ramsey. Can you do the same with Agent Masters and Ian's room?"

"Of course. And Dr. Gates? Everythin' _will _work out. I promise," Father Callaghan said gently, offering his arm to Abigail. She smiled and slipped her hand inside the crook of his elbow. And excellent timing, too, as the two FBI agents were pulling up in front of the house. Abigail pasted a bland smile on her face, knowing that Danae wouldn't be impressed, no matter what she did. And given what Philip Callaghan just told her, Abigail couldn't blame her, not if Danae knew even a third of this. She knew far more than most people, and that was bad enough.

An arched eyebrow and, "Nice place," was far more than she was anticipating, then Danae Marini's dark eyes came to rest on her. The agent asked quietly, "Where are Josie and Ian? Oh, I don't believe you've hurt them. Philip would never allow that, for one thing." Abigail wasn't entirely sure if she should be pleased by that comment, and so, she made no comment in response. Besides, the agent asked her another, far more important question.

"They're both in their respective rooms. . .Dr. Ramsey is asleep, and Ian is most likely very close to it. Father Philip, can you escort Agent Masters to the room he's sharing with Ian before you leave?" she asked. The priest inclined his head and she smiled up at him, trying not to blink at the size discrepancy between the priest and the agent. Philip Callaghan was almost six feet tall, but Agent Masters had him dwarfed. Easily. She turned to Agent Marini and said, "If you could follow me?" The other woman nodded and the pair started up the stairs to the bedroom where Jocelyn Ramsey was already sleeping. . .and hopefully, not having nightmares about her missing child.

NTNTNTNTNT

On the other side of the Potomac, near Arlington, in a darkened store front, there was a small group of people. . .no more than ten, when all were put together. Some of these 'residents' were there unwillingly. Chief among this last group was an exhausted man and a frightened little girl. The child was curled up in a far corner of the abandoned business office, to avoid drawing attention to herself while her uncle slept. She only hoped that this hiding place would be enough to protect herself until her uncle woke up.

Not for the first time, Annie Ramsey wanted to go home. But ever since she and her uncle were torn out of her home, there were so many things the little girl wanted. She wanted to go home, she wanted her mother, and she wanted her doll, the one that her father made for her. She wanted her uncle to stop hurting, she wanted Mr. Derek to come back, she wanted the bad men who took Annie and her uncle to go away, she wanted Aunt Danae. She just _wanted_.

Right now, Uncle Cam was asleep. . .not unconscious, but asleep. He stayed awake as long as he could, not wanting Annie to be alone and afraid, but eventually, he couldn't stay awake any more. Annie knew that he had to sleep if he wanted to stay well. . .her mother had told her many times that people needed to sleep to stay well. . .but she kinda wished he was still awake. But, as she had been from the beginning, Annie stayed brave. She let herself cry, when she and Uncle Cam were first taken, but that only made her head hurt, and no one cared when she cried. . .no one except Uncle Cam. Mr. Derek cared, too, but he was a ghost, and. . .

"Oh, you are so much like your mother. . .think if you make yourself small enough and quiet enough, you won't be noticed. She thought she faded into the background. She didn't, though. Even quiet and pretending to study, I noticed her. . .and I knew she was the reason your father beat me up," an unfamiliar voice said. Annie thought privately that she hoped Daddy had beaten him up really, really badly, especially if it was because he wanted to hurt Mommy.

However, she didn't say this. Instead, Annie swallowed hard, burrowing deeper into the corner, and drew her knees closer to her chest. This wasn't one of the men she saw when she and her uncle were taken, or since. Even more frightening, she didn't notice his footsteps, which meant he was really, really quiet, like her mom and Aunt Danae were when they thought that Annie was still asleep. But it wasn't the same. This made her feel anything but safe. She shrank in on herself, trying to make herself smaller.

"Oh, that's a really big man. . .beating up the uncle was one thing, but it doesn't take a lot of guts to scare a little girl. Why don't you pick on someone your own size? Oh, that's right, you can't. . .that's why Howe kicked you out of his gang. Not warning you again, you go near the kid, and what I'll do to you will make Howe's beating look like nothing," a second voice scoffed, and he kinda sounded like Daddy and Mr. Derek. There was a long silence, and then the newcomer added, sounding like he was only barely fighting back his laughter, "Besides, you're looking in the wrong place. Idiot."

"Get this. I'm the boss, not you," the owner of the first voice said. There was a scuffling sound, the sound of flesh striking flesh, a cry of pain, and then someone hitting the ground. The really bad man (as Annie was coming to think of him) said in a funny-sounding voice, kinda like Uncle Cam sounded when Annie's foot landed between his legs while she was trying to climb over him once, "You'll pay for that, you little rat-bastard. And when you're not looking. . ."

There was a movement, the man made another pained sound, and the second man hissed, "You lay a hand on that child, and I'll hold you while Howe beats the shit out of you, and don't think I won't. I wanna pay Howe back, too, but his kid has nothing to do with that. Got it? You leave that child alone. She wasn't even supposed to be home. . .was supposed to just be her uncle. . .unless you lied about that as well?" Annie froze. What? The newcomer said slowly, "You did. You planned to take the little girl all along, and her mother along with her. You IDIOT! Did you miss the part where my father told you that the kid's mother is best friends with an FBI agent?"

"Don't yell at me, you berk!" the really bad man snarled and Annie cringed. She knew enough from Uncle Cam that it was a really, really, REALLY bad word. And it was, because the man whom Annie was starting to think of as her protector moved suddenly, and the really bad man made that noise again. Annie wondered if she was a bad little girl for liking the new man, then decided to worry about it later. He wasn't hurting her, he wasn't hurting Uncle Cam (right now), so he couldn't be very bad. (Could he?)

"I'll do a helluva lot worse than yell at you. Don't make the mistake of thinking me soft because I won't hurt kids. Now, I'm gonna stay here until you drag your arse up those steps, and away from that girl. And if I ever see you near her again, I'll make a private call to her mum, tell her exactly where to find her little girl. This whole operation has been a massive cock-up and has been ever since my father brought you in. Now get _out_!" the protector said. There were several moments, where the only things Annie heard were the really bad man's pained noises and the scrapings of movement across the floor, and then there was silence again.

Annie swallowed hard, and the new man said gently, "I won't ask you to come out of your hiding place, luv, or to trust that I won't hurt you. I won't, of course, but you got no reason to trust me. I got reason to hate your da, but that's between me and him, it's got nothin' to do with you and nothing to do with your mum. But as long as there's breath in me, I won't let that arse hurt you. Can't protect your uncle as much, but I won't let any of them hurt you. And if they try, I'll find your mum and let her know where you are. I swear it. Go to sleep, luv."

Then there were footsteps, and the door opening and closing once more. Annie buried her face in her arms, feeling tired and confused. Mr. Derek whispered, "You can trust him, lass, trust him not to hurt you. Rest, baby girl. If he's involved in this, you'll be back in your mother's arms before too much longer." Mr. Derek said it was okay, so the frightened little girl shifted until she lay on her side and tucked her hands under her head, just as she did when she was a very little girl, taking a nap. She didn't understand any of this, but until she was back with her mother and Uncle Cam was safe, Mr. Derek was the next best thing.

She just hoped her daddy and mommy didn't get hurt.


End file.
